


Silver Leaves

by wildwinterwitch



Series: Sanctuary Verse [14]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 85,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwinterwitch/pseuds/wildwinterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose unexpectedly comes into an inheritance. As she and the Doctor are trying to find out who has left her the house, she disappears without a trace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It was a windy day, the kind that heralded change. The Doctor could sense it, the air was crackling with it. The wind was ruffling his hair, and every now and then a particularly strong gust managed to take his breath away as he cycled home from the academy library.

He was passing beneath some old trees, their new leaves fluttering in the wind, when he heard an indistinct crack. Rustling followed the crack, and yet more cracking sounds. He looked up a moment later, but by then it was already too late. A rotten branch hit him, showering him with new leaves and brittle, nearly black, twigs, sending him flying off of his bike.

It took a while before the foliage overhanging the pavement swam into focus. He was dizzy and disoriented, and for a moment didn't know what had hit him. Sitting up with a low groan, he patted himself down for injury. His knuckles were chafed, and his forehead felt odd. His left knee was throbbing, but the material of his jeans was undamaged.

“Are you all right, love?”

Looking up, he saw an elderly woman coming towards him, pulling off her gardening gloves. She held out her hand to help him up, and out of courtesy he took it and held onto it only lightly as he climbed to his feet, unwilling to burden her with his weight.

“Yes, I think so,” he mumbled, rubbing his knee and dusting himself off.

“There's a cut on your forehead,” she said, producing a tissue from a pocket. He bowed to let her dab at it, hissing a bit as she touched the wound itself. “We'd better clean this up,” she said, and made to cross the road.

“I'll be fine, thanks,” he said, taking the tissue from her.

The woman stopped, sighing. “Let me at least give you a plaster, to keep it from getting any dirtier.” She dug in her pockets for one.

“Amazing pockets you have,” the Doctor said, smirking. He wondered if they were bigger on the inside. Most women's pockets or bags seemed to be, judging by what he'd seen them carry around in them. He stooped again so she could stick the plaster to his slightly sweaty forehead. He thanked her.

“Nothing good has ever come from that place,” the woman said, kicking the branch that had caused his little accident out of the way. The Doctor picked up his bike, and sighed as he noticed the damaged front wheel. He'd have to push it home.

“You were lucky,” the woman said, handing him his satchel. The flap had suffered a deep scratch in one corner. He grimaced as he ran his fingers over the chestnut leather.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” he mused. Rose had given him the satchel in San Girolamo, and while he used it on a daily basis – which, of course, would leave a mark over time – he hated for it to get damaged like this. Something the old woman had said suddenly struck him. “What did you mean, nothing ever good has come from that place?”

“Well, it's been empty for years,” the woman shrugged. “I'm not the superstitious type, but they say that some of the people who've gone in there have never come back.” She shrugged. “I guess they didn’t watch as carefully as they thought and missed them coming out.”

“Why has it been empty then?” the Doctor asked, rubbing his neck.

The woman shrugged. “Money. It's a huge place, and it needs a fair bit of work before anyone can live in it.”

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. “There aren't any stone angels, are there?”

The woman looked at him, bemused. “Not that I'm aware of. What do they have to do with anything?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,” the Doctor said.

“Come on, I can smell a good story,” she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“You wouldn't believe it. It's just one of those silly little urban legends.”

“But for some reason, you seem to give it more credence than a silly little urban legend deserves,” she observed.

“As do you,” the Doctor countered.

The woman smiled, and there was that mischievous sparkle in her cornflower blue eyes again. “That's because I love a good story,” she replied, playing with her green gardening gloves.

The Doctor laughed. “Me too.” He craned his neck to get a better look at the house hidden behind the wall and the shrubbery. He went to the garden gate, but all he could see was an unassuming white front door with a lamp over it, and the corner of a square bay window next to it. There was a first floor, but the wall facing the street was quite forbidding, a sombre red brick wall with a couple of white windows. Whoever built the house had either wanted it to be simple, or wanted their privacy, but apart from that he could not glimpse anything sinister.

He could see a faded 'for sale' sign half hidden by the bushes. It was a sad old house that would be difficult to sell, and it was minimally maintained in the unlikely event that someone was actually interested in buying it.

“You like that place, don't you?” the woman said.

“Yes,” he said, lost in thought. “Yes, I think I do.”

“It is beautiful, seen from the garden. It's a bit big, maybe.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged. The TARDIS had been huge, but he had found good use for each and every one of her many rooms – little wonder for a life of nine-hundred-odd years. He'd never felt lost in her vastness. Not until that day he lost Rose, anyway.

“I'll have to get back to work,” she said. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“Yes, yes. Thank you, I'm... fine,” he said, smiling at her.

She returned his smile, and, putting on her gloves, went back to her gardening.

Following a whim, the Doctor opened his satchel to find a pen and his Notebook for Funny Ideas – Tony's first Christmas gift – and wrote down the phone number on the estate agent's sign. Funny, he mused, how he'd passed the place dozens, perhaps even hundreds, of times on his way to and from the academy and never noticed it.

Giving his knee another soothing rub, he returned his pen and notebook to the bag and secured it on the carrier. Then he set off, pushing his wobbling bike home. The damage was nothing he couldn't repair, but he'd have to do it as soon as possible. He preferred biking to the academy, and now that the weather had turned warm and dry, he didn’t want to drive unless he had to.

When he got home, the flat was quiet and empty. Rose was still on that mission down in St Austell, something about genuinely dangerous carnivorous plants being stolen from the fourth, Torchwood-run, biome of the Eden Project. She’d already been gone three days and when they’d spoken the night before she hadn’t been optimistic about a quick return.

Rolling down his shirt sleeves, he tossed the post onto the table in the hall without going through it. Making his way to his study, he unpacked his satchel, clearing room on his already cluttered desk for the books he’d brought home from the departmental library. He was planning to teach a class on the Florentine Republic in the autumn semester and had quite a bit of research to do for that. He started by going through the books, marking the table of contents, and piling them in the order he intended to read them.

A few pages into the first book, he realised that he had started to read the beginning of the same paragraph several times without taking in its contents. The pencil he'd used to jot down notes had become a toy to occupy his idle fingers. Sighing, he dropped the pencil and ran both hands over his face. His thoughts kept going back to the house.

Despite its forbidding, neglected exterior, the house had charmed him in a way that he found both alluring and unsettling. He smiled wistfully. It was exactly that mixture of danger and mystery that promised a brilliant adventure, with lots of running for their lives, talking to uncover secrets, getting out of impossible situations and hugging afterwards to celebrate the day. Now his life was about studying and teaching and writing. Rose was doing the running and talking and hugging. And while it was a good life, being stuck on the slow path, a brilliant life because he was with Rose, he sometimes felt a certain longing.

He got up and picked up the piece of coral that was sitting on the mantel between the collection of family photos. They had added quite a few in the ten months he'd been here. The first one was the one Tony and he had given Rose in the frame they'd found at the flea market. The coral was warm and small in his palm. Holding it, rolling it between his palms and stroking it usually helped when he felt restless.

Struck by sudden inspiration, the Doctor retrieved Tony's notebook from his satchel and flipped through the pages for the real estate agent's phone number. Because it was Saturday afternoon, he did not really expect anyone to pick up as he rang the number. He was a bit startled at first, and he stammered something about the house he'd seen.

“It's funny you should enquire about it now. It was taken off the market a couple of days ago,” the estate agent told him.

“Is that so. Well, I wasn't... I wasn't really looking, but the house looked interesting and I was wondering... anyway, sorry to take up your time,” the Doctor said. “Thanks anyway.”

And it was true. He wasn't really looking, at least not consciously. He was used to living in a vast, sprawling place. And while Rose's flat was nice and quite big for two, he still felt cramped in it. Shelf space for his books was fast running out, and Rose hated it when he misused the dark, antique dining table for his tinkering. She was right, of course. It was a beautiful piece of furniture, a treasure she’d found at the flea market. It had been rickety, with peeling paint, and Jackie had made a few comments about that. But Rose had been determined to restore it to its former glory, and she’d done a wonderful job.

Sighing, he leaned back in the desk chair. In the end, he realised, it was about finding a new place, a bigger place to live. His desire to buy, and live in, that house was just a pipe dream. Besides, he would have to talk to Rose about this first. She loved the flat. And so did he, particularly the window seat in the parlour, where they'd snuggle up together more often than on the sofa. Anyway.

It didn't matter. The house was off the market, probably sold to someone who'd discovered its charms earlier than he. It was funny, though. He passed the house every day on his way to the institute, and had never paid any attention to it. And now that he had noticed it, it proved unavailable. It was a concept he wasn't used to.

Shaking his head, he stood to make himself a cup of tea, and when he returned to the desk with the steaming mug, he found it much more easier to concentrate on his work. Soon, he was totally lost in Florentine history.

-:-

It was late at night when he'd had enough, and stretching, he massaged the knots forming in his neck and shoulders. Not for the first time he wished Rose were there to do it for him. Sighing, he got ready for bed. If he was lucky, he'd be able to doze a bit. He needed Rose by his side to get a good night's sleep, but he'd never told her so she didn't feel guilty when she had to go away overnight. In her absence, he had books to read in bed when he'd had enough of the tossing and turning. He usually curled up with her pillow, seeking comfort in her scent, but he also had books piled beside, and on, the bed to turn to when he’d finally had enough tossing and turning, and gave up on trying to get any sleep.

Settling down on their bed, he realised how much he was still hurting from the accident, and it took him a while to get comfortable. As he dozed off, his thoughts returned to the house.

There was something special about that house, something that tickled his timey-wimey sense in a good way. He wondered what had changed for the place to catch his attention now. For a while he was tempted to get up and log on to the Torchwood server, but he was too tired to muster the energy.

-:-

When he woke, it was to the soft light of early dawn, and a scratching sound at the window. He gave his eyes some time to adjust to the brightness, before chancing a glance at the alarm clock. It was just the time he had felt it was, but still, the glance at the display of the alarm clock on Rose's bedside table was comforting as itconfirmed, yet again, that he still had it. He lifted his head – he felt a light headache coming on, a reminder of his little accident, no doubt – to see what was causing the noise at the window. It turned out to be a grey squirrel playing on the ledge of the window.

Groaning, he dropped his head back onto the pillow. His hand went automatically up to the plaster on his forehead.

This was the first night without Rose by his side that he had slept through. Running his hands over his face, he kicked back the covers. There was no point in staying in bed any longer. He had work to do. Besides, the air was cool, even though he was wearing his pyjamas.

He was just about to get up when he heard the keys in the front door lock. Rose was home, he thought, a huge grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. As always, he didn't bother with slippers as he got up and went out into the hall to meet her.

His grin faded quickly when he saw how pale she was, and how sunken her eyes were from exhaustion. She dropped her bag where she came to a halt in the hall, the door softly clicking shut behind her.

“Doctor,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Her exhaustion made tears well up in her eyes.

He drew her into his arms and held her close, stroking her back in soothing circles, dropping a kiss on the crown of her head. “What say we get you in the shower and then to bed?” he said softly.

“'d be wonderful,” she mumbled into his shoulder. Letting go of her, he steered her into the bathroom, where he helped her undress, putting her clothes in the hamper as they were stripped off. Her whole body was tense, and her creamy skin had taken on a greyish tinge. The folds and wrinkles of the fabric had left red imprints on her skin.

“Join me?” she asked, looking up at him almost shyly. It was not, he understood, because of what she wanted him to do, or not to do. She needed him, and his comfort. He nodded slowly before he stripped off his pyjama bottoms and t-shirt. By the time he stepped under the shower with her, her hair was already plastered to her face and shoulders. She was standing under the hot jets, enjoying the caress of the water. Rose was so tired her movements were distracted and dreamlike, and she leaned heavily into him. He took the bottle of shampoo from her.

“You didn't drive, did you?” he asked, needing her to stay awake for just a couple more minutes. He began to work the lather into her hair.

“Had to,” Rose muttered.

“Rose!” he cried, shocked. An image flashed before his inner eye, of twisted metal and burst glass and Rose's broken body, bloody and trapped inside the wreck.

“Had to,” she repeated. “Lucas is too sick. God, I'm so tired,” she sobbed, letting go now as the tension finally began to slide off her like an additional garment she'd worn.

He rinsed the suds out of her hair. Then he held her to him, wrapping his arms around her from behind, nuzzling her neck and shoulder.

“Can you... touch me?” Rose asked. “Please?” She covered one of his hands with hers and guided it to her wet curls. He debated for a while if it was really such a good idea to do this. She was so tired she could hardly stay on her feet without his support.

Her head fell back to rest in the crook of his neck as she guided his fingers to wherever she wanted them, how she wanted them. When he moved his free hand to cup her breast, she stopped him, twining her fingers around his as she needed him to support her, pressing their hands into her stomach.

Their fingers danced and dipped together, inside her and over her. Rose was so tense it took her a while to relax. Only when the Doctor started to speak to her softly in his own language did she let go, and a few strokes later she came, with a shudder and a sob. More quietly than usual. He held her close as she slumped into him, warm water still cascading down their bodies. He wondered if it was like this for her when she touched herself.

“Better?” he asked.

Rose nodded.

Afterwards, he bundled her into bed – now cleared of the books and notepads –, spooning up to her under the covers. “Go to sleep, my love,” he whispered. She could tell him what had happened in St Austell later; he was just grateful that she hadn’t been hurt.

To his surprise he found that he had drifted off to sleep again. It was mid-morning when he woke. Rose was still nestled into him. Carefully, he disentangled himself from her to get up. In the bathroom, he slipped into his pyjamas before he went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

He went back to work, this time taking short breaks to check on Rose, who was sleeping peacefully. Finally, in mid-afternoon, he decided to wake her, otherwise she might not be able to sleep at night. He also didn’t know when she’d last eaten and decided it was time she did. The towel he had wrapped around her wet hair had slipped off as she's turned in her sleep, and he drew his fingers through her wild locks, now dry, smoothing them back from her face. She had fallen asleep so quickly there hadn't even been time for him to braid her hair.

Rose stretched and yawned lazily, her body arching off the bed and into him where he half lay, half sat, propped on his elbow, next to her.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

“Hey there. Sleep well?” he asked.

Rose nodded. “I'm famished.”

“I'll whip up some pasta,” he said.

“You're still in your jim-jams,”she observed.

The Doctor laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. “Afraid it'll affect my cooking?” He slid off the bed and busied himself in the kitchen. When Rose joined him there, she had pulled her hair back in a ponytail and was wearing his shirt. She leaned against the counter, stealing half a cherry tomato, and watched him dice a perfectly white globe of mozzarella. Peering into the steaming pot, she saw he had chosen her favourite kind of pasta; the small yellow butterflies whirled about excitedly in the foaming water.

“What happened to your hands?” she asked, running her fingertips gingerly over his scraped hands, and, reaching for his brow, added, “And your forehead?”

“A brittle branch hit me,” the Doctor explained, flexing his fingers. “It was very windy yesterday, and the branch just snapped. I fell. I'm sorry the satchel was badly scratched.”

Rose laughed. “I'm glad it's not the other way round.”

“Will Lucas be all right?” he asked, deciding not to tell Rose about the house. They had never talked about moving before, about getting a place that was truly theirs, and he wasn't sure how she'd react. Besides, it was just one of these silly things. Time Lord things, and while it tickled his alien senses, he also felt that trying to get by without them, not to act upon them, was part of him becoming more human. He gestured for her to pick some leaves off the basil plant they kept on the windowsill.

“Carlisle is very confident he will,” Rose said, washing the leaves, adding them to the salad the Doctor was making. It was his favourite pasta dish, a souvenir from his days at the rehab unit. “I had to take him to London,” she explained. “It was the fastest way, and Carlisle was adamant I take him to the Infirmary.”

“I know,” the Doctor sighed. Drying off his hands, he gently lifted her chin so he could kiss her. She tasted of toothpaste and tomato. “It's just...”

“I only realised how knackered I was after I got out of the car in the undercroft,” Rose said softly, her eyes serious.

He nodded, busying himself with getting the pasta ready while Rose set the table in the kitchen. They shared their meal in companionable silence, just enjoying being together, having lunch at three in the afternoon in their jim-jams.

After Rose cleared away the plates, she retrieved the stack of the previous day's mail from the table in the hall. She handed him two of the letters, opening three herself. When he returned to the kitchen with his glasses, Rose was frowning over a letter.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

She looked up, startled. “I've been invited to the reading of the will of one Henrietta Morton,” she said, handing him the letter.

“Oh,” he made, perusing the letter. “I'm sorry.”

“I don't know anyone by that name.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The day on which the reading of the will was scheduled was one of the days the Doctor usually worked at Torchwood. He split his time between Torchwood and the Academy, spending two-and-a-half days a week at each. He was, ostensibly, a general advisor to Torchwood, using his time primarily to work on the sonic screwdriver. He was also working clandestinely to develop a time travelling device.

Pete knew about it, of course. The Torchwood Director knew him better than he was comfortable with, and if he were still travelling, Pete would make for an excellent companion, just like his daughter. It was simply impossible to hide anything from the Tylers.

Rose returned from her appointment with the solicitor late in the afternoon. She entered his lab quietly, shrugging out of her light coat and setting down her bag by the door. Having put the kettle on, she sat on one of the stools at the counter where he was working. Normally, when she picked him up she'd at least say hello when she entered the lab, and then ask how long he would be. He looked up briefly, but she was so lost in thought that she didn't seem to even notice him. Her lips were set in a thin line. It was an expression with which he was still unfamiliar, and it made him a bit uncomfortable. He still hadn't learned to read it; she had picked it up during their separation, like so many things he had yet to learn about her. Even after all these months, they were still getting to know each other again.

He finished what he was doing, then prepared their tea. Kissing her temple to draw her attention, he put the steaming mug in front of her.

“Are you all right?” he asked, leaning against the lab table next to her.

Rose sipped her tea before she drew in a deep breath to meet his gaze and answered, “I've inherited a house.”

He opened and closed his mouth, burnt his tongue with the hot tea, opened his mouth a second time. Then, eventually, “But I thought you didn't know that woman.”

“I don't.”

“Well, what does Pete reckon?” When it came to dealing with red tape and paperwork, the Doctor was still at a loss, even though Rose had assured him again and again that paperwork here was much less of a hassle than it was in their original universe.

“I haven't told him yet. But if she was a rich aunt I think he'd have told me. Plus I don't see a reason why it's only me that was invited to the reading of her will.”

“Maybe you were special to her?”

“I didn't even know her!”

“Maybe she was a friend of the family?”

Rose shook her head. “Dad would have been there; and he never mentioned her.”

“Just a friend, then?”

“She was in her nineties. My friends aren't that old.”

The Doctor grinned and leaned towards her to steal a kiss. “I'm more than nine hundred,” he reminded her.

“Technically, you're just over nine months,” she said, winking at him. “What do you want to do on your birthday?”

“Dunno. Well?” He said, straightening, crossing his arms.

“Well what?”

“Don't you want to find out about that mysterious lady?” He finished his tea and took her mug to put them into the sink.

“I'm sure we will,” she said. Then she rummaged in her seemingly bigger-on-the-inside handbag and fished out a set of keys. “Fancy taking a look?” she asked, her eyes sparkling. “A house, Doctor. I've inherited a house!”

“Is that so?” he said, grinning. Yet at the same time he wondered why it was now that they started to discuss houses. Well, not really discussing, not yet anyway, it was more along the lines of considering getting one. Well, not really considering, not her anyway. It was all about him dreaming of one, imagining them in a different place. It was not about his wanderlust; the TARDIS had been his home, and he'd basically travelled every place and time without ever really leaving his home. No, it was more about making a new home with Rose, because he was making hers theirs, and it was fast becoming too small for all that they were.

“So you want to keep it?” he asked, sounding more hopeful than intended.

“Would you mind if I did?”

“No!” he cried. “Not at all.”

“The flat is getting a bit... cramped, isn't it?”

“I know,” he said, chagrined. “Sorry.”

Rose laughed, standing. “No, that's quite okay. What say we take a look at it first?”

-:-

Rose pulled over just where he'd fallen off his bike. Someone had got rid of the branch and the other debris. Nothing indicated this was the place where he'd had his accident a couple of days ago.

“Why are we stopping here?” he asked, startled.

“That's it, I think,” she leaned across to fish a sticky note out of her bag where it rested by his feet. “23 Florence Gardens. Yep, that's it,” she confirmed after she'd checked the house number. He noticed that the estate agent's faded sign was gone.

This surely couldn't be.

“Why...” he began, unable to comprehend. His thoughts whirled about in his head.

“This is it. The house,” Rose said. “Doctor, what's wrong? Are you all right?”

Her hand on his forearm brought him back to reality. He looked at her. “This is where I had my accident. It happened here, Rose,” he said softly, touching the scab on his forehead. “It's... I... I know this place. I really do like it.”

Rose was smiling in disbelief, but the longer she held his gaze, the more both of them realised that they were being serious. “It can't be,” Rose whispered.

“Timey-wimey sense,” he replied just as softly. He took her hand. “Come on, let's go and have a look.”

“This is just this side of scary, you know,” Rose protested as she was looking for the right key to open the gate.

“Aw, come on, it'll be a little bit of an adventure. No stone angels there, so what could possibly go wrong?” he said, rocking back on his heels.

“Yeah, that's exactly what makes this so scary,” Rose muttered, punching him gently. The gate swung open easily on well-oiled hinges. “What's this about stone angels, anyway?”

“Long story,” he said.

“Aren't they all,” she murmured, stepping through the gate. “You've never mentioned them before.”

“That's because they are... a bit scary. Really very scary. Not quite what you'd want to tell your little brother just before bed-time,” he said, tugging at his ear.

“Are you sure this is safe?” she asked, turning around so abruptly that he nearly walked into her.

“Yeah, should be fine. Come on, where's that sense of adventure gone, eh?”

“Out the door with Torchwood training, I guess.”

He took her hand and bent to kiss her. “We'll be fine. I promise.”

“Right then.”

From this close, the house looked even more uninviting than from the street. Again, Rose had to try several of the keys before she found the one that unlocked the front door. They stepped into a dark little hall with a red and white, tiled floor. Some of the tiles were cracked and worn smooth by busy feet. There was a narrow staircase that led down to the cellar, and a door to a small bathroom. The other two doors led to the spacious kitchen and to a sunny room that had been added long after the original building had been constructed.

“My, this is gorgeous!” Rose exclaimed as they stepped into the kitchen. It was a friendly room that left plenty of space for a nice work area, a breakfast bar, and even her dining table.

“Oh yes,” the Doctor said, in awe. The things they could do in here... he already saw the kitchen for what it was, the heart and soul of the house.

From the kitchen they went into a conservatory which was in a sad state of repair. The tiled floor was littered with the debris that had accumulated before the shattered windows had been boarded up. Just outside, there was a huge old willow tree in whose shade stood the remains of garden furniture. The Doctor could picture them sitting in the tree's shade on hot summer days.

The doors to the next room hardly opened. A very large fireplace commanded it, and it turned out to be still operational. The bay windows looked out to the garden. From there, they went to the hall proper with the staircase leading to the first floor, another small bathroom and another large room.

“This is beautiful,” the Doctor enthused, bouncing slightly to make the floorboards creak.

“I adore this room,” Rose said as they entered a very small room just opposite the first floor landing. It had a small fireplace, and was just wide enough to hold a bed.

“Have you seen the library?” the Doctor called. The walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The north-facing windows allowed in just enough daylight to make the room comfortable without damaging the books.

“You should come and have a look at this,” Rose cried. She had found the master bedroom suite, which took up the rest of the first floor. “It's... huge. It's like a flat within the house. There's a dressing room, and a huge en suite... and, oh, you have to come and see this!” The bedroom was directly above the room with the massive fireplace. The fireplace was not as big as the downstairs one, but it was framed by two windows overlooking the conservatory, plus a gorgeous bay window.

“This is perfect, isn't it?” the Doctor asked, wrapping his arms around Rose from behind as she stood gazing out onto the garden below.

“A bit big, though.”

It reminds me of home, he thought.

“If that's the case,” she replied, and he blushed ever so slightly as he realised that he had spoken his thoughts out loud. Again. “We should keep it.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, loosening his hold on her so she could turn around in his arms. They kissed, tenderly at first, then the kiss became more passionate.

“Very. I think I'm in love with this place already,” Rose murmured against his lips.

“I thought you were in love with me,” he whispered, kissing her. How he loved kissing her when her lips were so swollen and soft.

“Oh but I am,” she smiled, returning the gesture. “I just thought it's perfect for us. Henrietta must have known.”

“Henrietta?” he said, furrowing his brow. “Oh! Henrietta. Yes. Clever girl. Thank you, Henrietta.”

There were another three bedrooms and a bathroom under the eaves on the second floor, which they decided to turn into guest bedrooms. The Doctor thought that Tony would particularly enjoy the most adventurous of them with its columns – the chimneys – supporting the rafters and all the spaces that could be used as hidey-holes.

“It's going to take quite a bit of work, though, to make this ours,” Rose said, gesturing at the floral wallpaper, the peeling paint and the dull floorboards.

“So you're keeping it?”

“We. We are keeping it, Doctor. I want this house to be ours. I'll have Dad's solicitor draw up the necessary papers.”

He felt suddenly quite light-headed. “Rose.”

She took a step backwards, but she didn't let go of his hands. “Is that all right? I... I'm sorry if this is too much. I just thought... we could... you know. In case something happened. You'd be safe.”

“Rose,” he said, his voice breaking. “It's okay, really. I didn't expect this, is all. Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to. It's your inheritance.”

“I do, I know. I mean, I want this. What would I want with... Doctor, you aren't trying to tell me something, are you?” Her eyes were never still while she spoke, flitting from one side to the other, unable to come to rest.

“What? No! Rose, I... ” He took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I love you, Rose. You know that. Without you I'd be... no one. I'd be happy, more than happy, to live here with you. But you don't have to... sign over part of the house to me for that.”

“I know,” she said, smiling, reaching out for him.

He closed the distance between them and gathered her in a hug. “All right then. Doors, windows, carpets, mortgage and all.”

He felt her nod as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.

-:-

“Henrietta Morton worked for Torchwood from 1931 to 1956, as a field agent, then as an instructor. She quit Torchwood to work as a chef in the restaurant of her sister's hotel in the Peak District,” Pete told them, handing Rose a buff-coloured file folder. “We haven't got around to digitising this yet,” he added, by way of apology.

Rose accepted the folder and flipped it open. “Quite a career,” she murmured. “God, she would have been a hundred next year.”

“She died of old age, in her sleep,” Pete went on. “She shared a flat with some slightly younger people near Hampstead Heath. The funeral has already taken place, I'm afraid.”

“Did you know her?” the Doctor asked, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the papers in the personnel file in Rose's lap.

“No, I've never met her. And I'm afraid there's no one else at Torchwood old enough to remember her,” he replied. “I suggest you pay her flatmates a visit.”

“Why did she leave the house to me?” Rose wondered aloud.

“Were there any other heirs?” Pete asked.

Rose nodded. “She left all her money to her flatmates, for the maintenance of the house they shared, for their travel plans.”

“So you've met them?” the Doctor asked in surprise.

“Only ever so briefly,” Rose said. “They were gone before I had the chance to talk to them. Actually, it took me quite a while to realise what had happened.”

“Did they seem... surprised? Upset?” Pete asked.

Rose looked up from the folder. “I don't remember.”

The Doctor picked up Henrietta's photo. It was in black and white, but of very good quality, compared to other pictures he'd seen from those days. Her hair was a medium shade of grey – probably dark blonde or ginger –, neatly coiffed in the style of the day, and she looked at the camera with seriousness. It was at odds with the slightly mocking smile that tugged at one corner of her mouth. She was probably a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

“We really should find out,” the Doctor said, returning the photo to the folder.

-:-

The Doctor was surprised by the bulky man who had opened the door of the house in Hampstead Heath and was sitting now, somehow miraculously folded small, across from him in the overstuffed armchair. Samuel Williamson didn't say anything for a while. He looked both of them over closely, unashamedly so, as only the very young and the elderly are allowed to. His brown eyes were sharp and looked youthful. His gnarled hands, however, spoke differently as they rested on the arms of the chair.

“I'm afraid Fred and Ruth aren't in,” he began eventually. “Can I offer you a cup of tea?” His voice matched his eyes, firm and sonorous as it was.

“That'd be nice.”

When he returned with their cups a couple of minutes later, he apologised for not using a teapot. “I can't be bothered with that.”

“Don't worry. Actually, we're very glad that we could come and see you on such short notice,” Rose said, smiling as she accepted the chipped mug.

“One doesn't get a ring from Miss Tyler every day, now,” he chuckled softly.

“I'm sorry I didn't stay for a chat the other day,” Rose continued, gently blowing on her tea. “I was quite a bit stunned by the news.”

Mr Williamson nodded. “I thought so. I hope you've since recovered.”

Rose sipped her tea. “Well, not really. You see, I've never met Ms Morton.”

Again, Mr Williamson nodded, but he didn't reply at once. “I'm afraid she never mentioned you, Miss Tyler. Or you, Professor,” he added, looking at the Doctor. “So this entire affair over the will gobsmacked us just as much as I'm sure it did you.”

“What about your flatmates. Would they know about either of us?” the Doctor asked.

Mr Williamson shook his head. “No, I shouldn't think so. But I shall ask them. I hope you will do the same for us when you find out? If you find out anything.”

Rose assured him that they would. “Didn't Ms Morton have any relatives?”

“All long since dead. She's survived them all. There's no need to fear for your inheritance, my dear,” he said.

“It's not about... that,” Rose said, flustered, flushing a bit. The Doctor suppressed an urge to lay his hand on her arm.

“One should think not, considering,” Mr Williamson said kindly.

“It's exactly what surprised me so. Why would a stranger leave me her house?”

The old gentleman spread his hands. “I didn't even know she had that house until the reading of the will. I am sure, Miss Tyler, that Hen had her reasons for doing this. You'll just have to trust you'll find out, eventually, what they were.”

“Well, this is actually what I wanted to ask you. I don't suppose I could have a look at, well, some of her things?” Rose asked. Her grip on the mug had turned her knuckles white.

Again, Mr Williamson took his time to come up with an answer. “I understand. However, I must say I'm not sure... I would like to ask the other... the two ladies about that first.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I didn't mean to –“

He chuckled. “Don't worry, my dear. I know how you're feeling. Well, I have your number now, and I shall give you a ring.”

Rose nodded, smiling nervously.

Once outside, she took a deep breath and leaned into the Doctor as he wrapped an arm around her. “He's made quite an impression on you, hasn't he?” he said softly.

Rose, bemused, shook her head. “I don't know what was wrong with me. I felt like such a child.”

“I'm sorry you didn't find out anything,” he said, opening the car door for her.

“He's a man of principle. Very old school. I think he'll call me. Sooner or later.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next days passed in a flurry of activity as they planned the renovation of the house. The Doctor had secretly dubbed it the Willows. The willow in front of the conservatory wasn't the only one of its kind around the house. The grounds that came with the house were extensive. The door at the far end of the garden opened onto a former towing path along a canal, and there were, of course, more willow trees.

Rose surprised him by wanting to paint the walls in the master bedroom and the small room next to it herself. “Would you mind if I used this room?” she asked him one day soon after they had dealt with all the paperwork that made the Willows theirs. She was standing in the middle of the room, sunlight illuminating it through the beautiful sash windows. The room, he realised, was perfect for her, although–

“It's a bit small, don't you think?” he asked, studying the floor plan. The fireplace of the room was back to back with exactly the spot in the master bedroom they'd intended for the bed.

“I could always join you in the library,” Rose said, closing the distance between them to kiss his cheek.

“I feel a bit bad for getting the huge downstairs room. And the workshop,” he admitted.

“Don't,” Rose said. “You're used to lots and lots of space. The flat must make feel you claustrophobic. Compared to the TARDIS.”

“Well,” he drawled, touched by her generosity. “I love the flat.”

“Do you think we're making a mistake?” Rose asked.

“No,” he replied, “no, not at all. What makes you think that?” He dropped the floor plan and wrapped his arms around her.

“I don't know,” she said. “Probably just me, bein' silly. And a bit nostalgic.”

“It's a big step, and it all happened so quickly we haven’t really had time to adjust to the idea yet,” he said, and kissed her. “We can take this slowly.”

Rose smiled at him, and the nervous fluttering in his stomach stopped. “I have a few ideas for the kitchen. Shall we?” she said, the twinkle in her eye not quite reassuring enough for the Doctor, but he knew Rose well enough to leave her alone for the moment. He nodded, took her hand and bounded down the stairs. Which, he noted, would be gorgeous, as would the old floorboards.

They were measuring the kitchen when a knock on the windowpane startled them. “Looks like we have company,” he said cheerfully, rising from where he had been crouching to hold the tape measure down.

“But who can it be? No one knows we're here,” Rose wondered out loud, rising too. For a moment he thought he saw her flinch, and there was a note of panic underlying her voice. But he dismissed the thought as quickly as it had crossed his mind. They hadn’t expected any visitors, so that knock came as a bit of a surprise, that was all. They had finished early at Torchwood to take stock of what needed to be done in the house. Jackie had already offered – threatened, Rose liked to stress good-naturedly – to come and help them with the interior design. He had grudgingly agreed, but only after he had made Rose promise that she would put her foot down if needs be. It wasn't that he didn't like the Tyler Mansion; it was just a bit... impersonal, too perfect. He wanted to pick things for their home out himself. He didn't care about what was chic – he wanted their new home to be comfortable. She had reminded him of the table in her dining room, and the stark white walls in her room at the Tyler Mansion before he had believed her that she did not want Jackie to interfere too much with their new house.

“It's not Jackie, is it?” he whispered.

“No!” Rose replied, a bit annoyed.

He went to the back door and opened it.

“Oh, it's you!” the Doctor cried in surprise when he recognised the lady who had helped him after his accident.

The lady seemed quite perplexed at first, but quickly recovered. “I knew it was love at first sight, but I've never seen a man make such a quick decision,” she said.

“You've lost me,” Rose, who had joined them, said.

The Doctor quickly explained to her who their guest was. “We’ve never been introduced properly. But that's me, rude and not ginger. I'm th... Dr John Noble, and this is Rose Tyler,” he said cheerfully.

“I thought I recognised you from somewhere,” the woman said, accepting Rose's hand. There was a brief awkward moment when the Doctor thought she would react strangely to Rose, but the woman seemed unperturbed. “I'm Claire Manning, and my house is just across the street.”

“Would you like to come in, Claire?” Rose asked. “I'm afraid we can't offer you anything, though.”

“Oh, that's what I'm here for. I've brought you some sandwiches and something to drink. To welcome you,” Claire said, pointing at the basket she'd brought. They went through to the kitchen, and Claire looked around the empty room as if she were returning to a familiar place. The Doctor could see memories resurface in her eyes. She probably saw the kitchen as it once was, many many years ago.

“It's a sad place, isn't it?” he said. They stepped up to the bay window where they could use the sill as a makeshift counter.

“Yes and no,” Claire sighed. “It's filled with happy memories for me. It looks sad now, all empty and... dilapidated. But I'm sure the two of you will make it beautiful and homey again.”

“Did you live here?” Rose asked, helping Claire to unpack the mouthwatering contents of her basket.

“Oh no, not me,” Claire laughed, unscrewing the Thermos and pouring tea into the mugs she'd brought. “An auntie of mine used to live here. But she moved out when I was a teenager, a hundred years or so ago.”

He lowered his gaze to study the sandwich he'd selected.

“I'm sorry,” Claire began. “I shouldn't have... I'm not that kind of neighbour.”

The Doctor looked up, covering her hand with his where it rested on the edge of the basket. “No, it's all right. You can give us the grand tour.”

Claire looked up at him, a grateful smile on her thin lips, her startlingly blue eyes shining.

“You don't happen to know the previous owner, do you? Henrietta Morton?” Rose asked, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“No, I'm afraid not,” Claire said. A steep wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. “I've never heard of her. I can't quite remember the previous owner's name, but I'm quite sure it's not Morton.”

“Oh,” Rose said, looking at the Doctor. He cupped her cheek and gave her a quick kiss.

“We'll find out, yeah?” he whispered, stilling her as he recognised the glint of disbelief in her eyes. He was surprised himself, because the house had most decidedly been Henrietta's; they had it on a solicitor's authority even. They would find out, eventually, but now was not the time to press Claire. They hardly knew the woman. When he withdrew, Claire had moved away to the French doors that opened on the conservatory to give them some space. She was standing just inside the doorway.

“This used to be so gorgeous.” Her voice was barely audible. She had wrapped her arms around herself as if she were freezing, her grey cardigan taut over her chest. Her gaze was once again wistful. The Doctor remembered her saying that nothing good had ever come from this house, and for a brief instant he felt a strange prickling at the edge of his consciousness. Maybe Rose was right after all, maybe this was a bit fast.

As much as he wanted to ask Claire what she meant, he held back because he didn't want to worry Rose. She didn't know about the Stone Angels. It was one of the many stories he hadn't told her yet, and he wanted her to fully understand when he talked to Claire about the house.

“We'd sit outside under the willow on hot summer days, and inside in winter,” Claire mused. “There used to be lots of snow when I was little, and the light in here was blue when the sun shone on the snow on the roof.”

“We... have no plans for the conservatory yet,” Rose said, more to herself. “But I'll definitely love sitting outside in the summer. It's so much hotter here th–“ She bit her lip.

“Than up north,” the Doctor finished for her. He knew, of course, that she was referring to their original universe.

Claire didn't let on if she had noticed anything. Instead, she sighed wistfully, much to his surprise. He didn't know Claire that well, but he didn't have her down as the nostalgic type. Either he was wrong or there was something about the house that triggered this powerful reaction.

Before he could say anything, however, Claire turned back to them, her expression neutral. “I'd better leave the two of you to it then. There are always so many things to do when one moves into a new home.”

Rose moved to stand close to him, taking his hand. She was clearly as confused about Claire's hasty exit as he was. “Thank you for the sandwiches,” she said.

Claire waved her off, and, just as quickly as she had appeared, she was gone, and they were alone once more.

-:-

Quite a lot of his homework had remained untouched over the past few days. After they had stopped planning the kitchen, they went back to the flat and he set to work in the study straight away. Rose, he had noticed during a quick glimpse over the rim of his glasses, had come in to fetch some of her expensive stationery and her fountain pen. She had not joined him, which was good, because he desperately needed to get some papers marked. The end of term was nearing, and that meant loads of work. At one point, she had come in to put a bottle of water and a glass of red wine on the desk – within his reach, but well outside the danger zone. He had once spilled a glass of Barolo over a pile of exam papers as he’d exclaimed over a particularly brilliant idea. Explaining the purple stains to the class had been a bit embarrassing. He certainly didn’t need to experience that again.

Sighing contentedly, he capped his fountain pen, the silver one with the red ink, and stood. He was done for the night. Before he went to Rose to ask her to come to bed with him, he took his empty wine glass and the bottle of water to the kitchen. Rose was curled up on the window seat, draining her glass of wine, when he joined her in the parlour. His soft “Hey” startled her, and she jumped, nearly dropping the glass. He joined her, and in the brief moment that she looked at him, he saw that she had been crying, and she quickly averted her gaze when he sat down on the edge of the window seat.

“Rose, what’s wrong?” he asked, taking her glass, and putting it down on the floor where it was safe. He had seen her writing things on the table, and couldn’t imagine why her personal correspondence would upset her so. If that, indeed, was the reason for her tears.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice thick with tears. She shrank away from him as he placed his hand above her ankle, just inside her trouser leg. Swinging her legs over the edge of the seat, she stood and left the parlour.

The Doctor dropped his hand onto the cushion, studying the pattern of the fabric between his splayed fingers for a minute. There was nothing he could do when she was like this, nothing apart from giving her the space she obviously needed. She had been jumpy for quite a while, and although he had tried to be patient and support her as best he could, he was beginning to feel his frustration getting the better of him. Rose refused to tell him about what was bothering her. It was obviously something major, and while part of him wondered what it could be and how he could help her, another part of him felt left out and frustrated by her evasiveness.

Eventually, he picked up her glass and took it to the kitchen. He found Rose in the study, lost in thought in front of the mantel. She was staring, unseeing, at the collection of framed photographs on the mantel, fresh tears streaming down her face.

She looked lonely and lost standing there and his heart clenched in despair at his inability to do anything for her. If only she’d talk to him. Having found her a tissue he held it out for her. She took it and blew her nose.

“Rose, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Rose,” he said, putting an arm around her.

This time it was she who startled him. She shrugged him off and stepped away from him. “Doctor, please.”

“I want... Ro–”

“You’re suffocating me!” she cried. Her tears were flowing freely, she wasn’t even attempting to brush them away. She was so tense her whole body was shaking.

He stood, frozen, terrified, and helpless. He’d never seen her like this before and had no idea what he had done to deserve this, or what had brought it on.

“Please leave me,” Rose whispered, seeking support at the mantel behind her, her searching hand knocking over a couple of the frames as she did so. “Go, please. Please. Please, go.”

Still, he was unable to move. He couldn’t possibly leave her when she was like this. He was terrified for her. “Rose, no,” he eventually managed to choke out.

“Go!” she cried. “Leave me alone!” Rose doubled over, letting go of the mantel to hide her face in her hands.

The Doctor nodded, shocked, and finally mustered the will to leave. He reached out to touch her as he passed by her, but at the last moment he held back. “I’m... going,” he said softly. He winced as he heard the dull thud of Rose’s knees hitting the ground as she collapsed on the floor.

He leaned against the wall just outside the study, unwilling to go any further. Her reaction still didn’t make any sense. It was a side of Rose he was completely unfamiliar with. It was completely unlike her to fall apart like this. He could hear her sobs, and they were breaking his heart. He couldn’t just stand there, doing nothing. Whatever it was that had shaken Rose so, he couldn’t leave her alone with it.

He put on the kettle before he ran her a bath. When he went back to the study Rose wasn’t sobbing anymore, but she was still sitting on the floor where she’d collapsed, sniffling.

“Rose?” he said softly, holding out a box of tissues for her.

She plucked several out and blew her nose.

“Fancy a cup of tea? A bath?” he asked.

Rose nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “’d be nice.”

“Am I still suffocating you then?” he asked, perfectly serious. He pulled her to her feet, but didn’t take advantage of her momentum to pull her into his arms.

She sighed, flushing. “No, I... I’m sorry. I was angry and terrified and I lashed out at you.”

She let him take her to the bathroom. He told her to get into the bath while he went to get her tea from the kitchen. Normally, they would have shared the bath, but he just held her mug and passed it to her when she wanted a drink, sitting on the oriental table she kept beside the tub. “Can you light the candles?” she asked.

Rose relaxed visibly in the hot water, the low light from the candles and the comfort of the hot drink soothing her and helping her to calm down. He got up at one point to return her mug to the kitchen and she finally turned her head to look at him. Her light brown eyes looked haunted. “Can you stay?”

He sat back down, rolling the mug between his palms. “Are you going to tell me what just happened?” His voice was very soft, and he’d almost not asked the question.

She sighed, watching the way the water stuck to her palms as she flattened them against the surface. “I can’t.”

A wave of disappointment washed over him. He’d hoped that they could share everything. He so wanted to help her. Seeing her fall apart like this hurt, and the worst thing was that he had no idea if he was the reason for it. “You aren’t sick, are you?” he asked.

Rose’s eyes went wide. “No! No, I’m not. I’d tell you.”

“What is it that you can’t tell me?” he asked, and very softly, “Don’t you trust me?”

“I...” she began, but then the pause became lengthy.

“Is there anyone else, at least, you can confide in?” he wanted to know.

Rose nodded, dipping her hands into the water. “Yes.”

“That’s good. I think,” he said.

“I’m really sorry, Doctor,” Rose said, looking up. “But I... I’ll tell you, eventually, yeah? It’s better this way. Trust me.”

He smiled wistfully. “I do. I don’t have any other choice, do I?”

Rose turned towards him, reaching over the edge of the tub, dripping water onto his knee. He took her slick hand. “I love you, Doctor. I hate having to do this, but I hope you’ll understand, when this is over.”

He realised. “You’re scared.”

“Very,” she said, her voice shaking.

“I wish...”

“There’s nothing you can do, Doctor.”

“Well, now I know. And I can’t say I am particularly happy with this. You terrified me.”

Rose pulled his hand towards her and brushed a kiss over his knuckles. “I’m truly sorry.”

“Do I need to be terrified?”

“You know the answer to that, Doctor,” she said, heaving a sigh, “and I wish I could tell you no.”


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Rose’s words filled him with a disquiet he couldn’t quite shake off, no matter how hard he tried. Rose had sensed it too, and while she had reassured him that he didn’t really have anything to worry about that everything was all right, he still felt restless.

It briefly crossed his mind that he could ask Jackie, but if she didn’t know about what was troubling Rose nothing would be gained but her being bent on finding out what it was, which in turn would make Rose furious. He didn’t want that. When he met Lucas Doyle, her partner at Torchwood, in the coffee shop he wondered for an even briefer moment if he should ask him. But the moment passed before he could formulate the question even in his mind, and he let the matter drop with an uncomfortable smile. Lucas was an amiable enough bloke, but he had no idea how close he and Rose were, and he didn’t want to embarrass anyone, or upset Lucas unnecessarily. So instead the Doctor just inquired after his health and was glad to find that he had recovered fully from the incident in St Austell.

The Doctor decided that it would be best to trust her, and to channel his nervous energy into something productive. Consequently, work on the Willows progressed faster than expected, despite classes and emergencies at Torchwood. They never mentioned her breakdown again, but he kept a close eye on her, and on very rare occasions he even allowed his mind to reach out for hers, just to see how she was. His telepathic abilities had suffered from the metacrisis, but as he remembered his early lessons as a boy, he managed to regain command over a fraction of what they used to be. He didn’t want Rose to know, not now, at any rate; she’d never been comfortable with it in the first place. Also, he obeyed his people’s rules regarding that ability religiously. So he was grateful that the brief periods he allowed himself found a reassuring calm about her. She would tell him eventually, when – if – she felt comfortable with it. And he had to content himself with that.

Apart from work on the Willows, he had been wondering what to give her for her birthday, which was fast approaching. He’d never been one to really acknowledge anniversaries or birthdays before his life with her, and Rose hadn’t seemed to mind that much, but living with her had shown him that these days were special to her. And if truth be told, he really enjoyed them as well. Christmas, of course. He loved Christmas. But he had also enjoyed her – their – family’s birthdays ever since his arrival in Pete’s World. He wanted to give Rose something in return, wanted to make her birthday a memorable one, although he didn’t know why he felt the need to single out her birthday. He should make every day special for her.

His initial plan, however, was ruined by the arrival of the invitation for the opening of the new wing at the Academy. Both of them would be expected to make an appearance – Rose would need to be there for Vitex, which had sponsored a large portion of the building fund, and he, of course, was a member the faculty. There was no way either of them could get away with missing the event even though it was Rose’s birthday. But the event would have to end at some point, and then he could whisk Rose away for a private celebration. Jackie would take them out for lunch, and the opening was scheduled for the early evening. The timing was perfect, really, and now that Rose was out in the field, he could make all the necessary preparations without the secretiveness. He enjoyed preparing surprises, but for this particular plan it was certainly better to have her out of the way. And the early arrival and completion of the kitchen made things even better.

-:-

The Doctor pushed Rose’s hand away when it travelled down his stomach to cup his erection. He drew her into his body, however, so she didn’t feel rejected. It was her birthday after all. He would have preferred making love to her, and having a proper lie-in, to leaving her, but there were so many things he had yet to do if he wanted to pull off the surprise that evening. He groaned as Rose cupped his bum and drew him closer to her, rocking her hips into his.

“Rose,” he mumbled into her hair. He pulled back to stroke her cheek. “Happy Birthday, my love.” He kissed her deeply, and was so close to tell his plans to sod off. Eventually, however, he let go of her and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“I...” Rose began, her voice raspy, “You don’t want to make love to me.”

He closed his eyes. He had to be strong now. “Yes, I do. So very much. But I can’t. I’m sorry. There’s something I have to do. At the Academy. For tonight.” It was a white lie, but it was as close as he could get to the truth. Rose’s obvious disappointment made his heart clench.

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“Yeah.” Her reply sounded flat.

“Rose, I wish, I... it were different. I’d bundle you into the TARDIS and take you anywhere you wanted, away from here. But...” he trailed off, exhaling. Travelling in the TARDIS was no longer an option.

Rose smiled softly, reaching up so she could kiss him. His hand went between her shoulder-blades almost immediately to support her. “I know. It’s jus’... me, bein’ silly. I’m looking forward to you making it up to me.”

The last was said with a bit of tongue appearing between her lips, and he thought he might give in after all. He settled for kissing her senseless, and then he left their bed with a soft “Good morning.”

As he finished up at the Academy he realised that it was later than he’d thought. He rushed to the Willows, cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and made a new one as he prepared some dishes they could have as a late supper. To his complete surprise, and horror, a delivery truck pulled into the drive just as he was slicing tomatoes.

“What is this?” he asked. “I haven’t ordered anything.”

The delivery man shrugged. “This Rose Tyler’s place?” He looked at the Doctor curiously.

“Yes.”

“Great. Would ye... ?” He held out his clipboard for the Doctor to sign the receipt.

“What is this?” the Doctor asked, scrunching up his nose in horror as he saw the man’s colleagues carry in a dozen or so boxes.

“Somethin’ fragile,” the man replied, gesturing at the stencilled script on several of the boxes. Then he tipped his cap, and was gone.

“But...” the Doctor protested in the empty room. “I don’t want them here.” Sighing, he looked at the copy of the receipt. When he found Jackie’s name, he didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or grunt with anger. That woman!

He fished his mobile out of the pocket of his jeans and speed-dialled Jackie. “What, pray tell, is in all those boxes!?” he said with barely concealed irritation as Jackie answered.

“Hello, sunshine,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Jackie,” the Doctor sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. He told her what had happened.

“Oh, that’s the chandelier. Excellent, I’ll call Ben. With a bit of luck, he and his gang’ll have the thing installed by the time the reception is over.”

“Wait,” he spluttered. “What chandelier? Not... that chandelier?”

He could hear Jackie beaming with glee over the phone. “Exactly that chandelier. It’s for her birthday. From us.”

“But... you’re not...” he began, rubbing his hand over his face again. “I had plans for tonight. Right after the reception.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” And he didn’t want this plan wrecked as well.

“Now, then,” she said brightly. “We’ll tell her tomorrow.”

“I wanted to show her something at the house,” the Doctor said. “I can’t hide it from her.”

“Oh.”

“That’s lots of ohs coming from you, Jackie,” he said.

“Yeah, see, you never cease to surprise me,” she retorted.

He snorted.

“If she sees it, tell her it’s from us. If she doesn’t – well, all the better.”

Gazing at his watch, he found that time was rapidly running out. There were a couple more things he would have liked to tell Jackie, but so he just acquiesced. “Will do.”

“See you later, Doctor.”

“Yeah, later.”

He rang off, staring at the mobile. Rose smiled back at him from the screen’s wallpaper, but she wasn’t looking directly at the camera. Pete had taken that picture at Christmas, when they’d all gone outside to play in the snow. The apple of her cheeks was flushed, even in the warm light of the torches, and her eyes were glinting with happiness. He felt guilty for turning her down that morning, and he dearly hoped his surprise would make her happy.

A little while later, as he was cleaning the kitchen and putting away the utensils he’d brought from the flat into a temporary spot, Ben and his men arrived to put the chandelier up. He was Jackie’s all-around handyman for jobs around the house, and she trusted him; which was good enough for the Doctor. He left the Willows after he had prepared the conservatory.

The conservatory and his workshop were the only rooms that hadn’t seen any repairs yet. He hoped they’d finish their bedroom within the next couple of days so they could move in at the weekend. The floor was already done; they only needed to replace the wallpaper with a fresh coat of paint. They’d chosen a silvery green for the wall backing Rose’s room; the others they wanted to paint in an off-white. The tins were sitting next to the fireplace, and he couldn’t wait to set to work together with Rose. Painting was a soothing activity in its repetitiveness, but still demanded some attention. They’d painted several of the rooms already and done so, for the most part, side-by-side in a companionable silence.

Rose was already at the Tyler Mansion when he arrived there ten minutes late. No one seemed to mind, though. Tony threw himself at him as soon as he stepped into the family room. “Rose loved my present!” he called out triumphantly.

“Did she? Brilliant!” he grinned, leaning forward to kiss her hello as she joined him and Tony. When she pulled back he noticed her eyes were unusually full, and he hugged her, hoping that no one would notice. “You all right?” he whispered.

“Yeah.” Her voice was a little choked, and it held that tone that he told him he wasn’t supposed to know about her tears.

He played dumb. “I’m looking forward to tonight. I’d like to give you my present then.”

Rose laughed, a teary little sound, and, letting go of him, she whispered, “It’s not that.” He was sure that had they been alone she would have told him what was the matter. Sighing, he kissed her, running his hand down her back in a soothing gesture.

During lunch his thoughts kept wandering. Rose was a very good actress, he had to give her that, and he wondered if she’d been acting around him as well. He quickly dismissed the thought, however, as he spooned sugar into his espresso. She’d been herself lately, or else he didn’t know her half as well as he’d thought. She smiled and behaved like her usual self during lunch so as not to worry Jackie or Tony. But she sneaked the odd glance at her father, and he realised that whatever it was that had her so upset, Pete knew about it. The Doctor couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that shot through him. He should be glad, he admonished himself, that she had someone she could confide in, even it was Pete and not him.

After lunch, Tony kidnapped him to show him his latest Lego creation. On his way back to the family room, he went past Pete’s study. The door wasn’t quite closed, and he picked up Rose’s soft voice. She had been crying, and Pete spoke to her soothingly. The Doctor’s heart clenched. It should be him in there with Rose.

“We’re doing everything we can, Rose,” Pete said. The Doctor took a step back, and he saw Pete crouching in front of Rose’s armchair, his hands on hers. He blushed and lowered his head. He shouldn’t be here. But he looked up again anyway.

“What if you can’t?” Rose asked, neither defiant nor challenging. She sounded dejected, and that made it all the worse for the Doctor. The urge to go to her became even stronger.

“Rose,” Pete said, cupping her cheek to make her look at him. “I promise you.”

“What about the Doctor?” Rose asked. “I can’t... I hate doing this to him, and he needs to know. I’m not sure how long I can keep going like this. It’s bad enough already.”

Pete’s hand slid from her cheek back to her hand. “Just a little while longer. You must not tell him. Or your mother.”

Rose sighed, defeated, and nodded. She stood, handing Pete a couple of papers before she turned towards the door. The Doctor froze for a heartbeat before he realised he shouldn’t be there, eavesdropping on them like this. He hurried down the hall, grateful for the carpet dampening his steps.

The Doctor came close to asking her several times that afternoon, particularly when they went to their suite at the back of the mansion to get ready for the reception. He had brought their evening clothes so they didn’t have to go back to the flat and lose precious time. “Rose, I...” he began, shrugging into his shirt.

“Yeah?” When she turned around he could see in her eyes that she knew what he was thinking. They held each other’s gaze for a while until he gave in and smiled. Suddenly, it was enough that she knew. It wasn’t the time to talk.

“You are beautiful,” he finished. He took in her shimmery cream-coloured bra and knickers, beautifully embroidered with a paisley pattern in the same hue. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he lost her.

She smiled. “Thank you.”

With a few strides, he crossed the distance between them to embrace and kiss her. “I love you so much, Rose,” he said, breathless.

“I love you too.” There was that teary quality to her voice and eyes again. He couldn’t bear it.

“Let’s go to that reception, shall we?”

“And then?” Bless her for catching on to his playful tone. She gave him her cheeky smile.

“Do you have plans?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Maybe. Jus’ wanna be sure in case a better offer comes along.”

“That, my love,” he said, kissing her, “won’t happen.”

-:-

The official opening of the new library turned out to be one of the more enjoyable events they had had to attend. He was still uncomfortable when attention was focused on him, though he’d managed to learn to slip on his public mask when needed, it didn’t really make it any easier to deal with. Tonight the media were particularly interested since the new construction had been funded by Vitex, and the heiress was attending on the arm of her hero-boyfriend. The details of his extraordinary deeds were being rehashed and that he could live without, but he knew that the normalcy of their life together was what kept him grounded, and also served to keep the media largely at bay.

They were both very thankful for that. The first encounter with the press had not gone down well with him, and while Rose had never felt as shy as the Doctor did, she was glad that the press left them alone for the most part once their initial curiosity had been satisfied. The Doctor had hated every single minute of the all-revealing interview, but at least it had been with one of the more respectable publications. It did help, of course, that they kept their relationship private and their public appearances down to an absolute minimum, and relatively boring.

The Academy’s library was housed in the now refurbished old wing of the building. It had been reconstructed after the fire, and in the process they added a new wing that was tastefully designed to match the rest of the building.

Vitex had paid for a rather grand re-opening, complete with dinner followed by music and dancing, and a gala champagne toast. Rose loved the new library, a bright and airy affair despite being a historic structure, and she almost envied the Doctor and his students for being allowed to come here to work. Such an inspiring place it was, and once again she was painfully reminded of her own school days. Rose still felt intimidated by all the books she knew she'd never be able to read, but she tried to make up for not having gone to uni by reading as much as she could, things she found on here own as well as recommendations from friends and The Doctor. She surprised herself sometimes with how much she enjoyed it.

When they could leave without being rude, he found Rose standing just inside the new library, the light from the hall pooling yellow around her as it flooded into the dark room. The peace and quiet here was wonderful after the music and voices in the grand hall. She had brought her flute of champagne, and was sipping at the sparkly pale liquid absentmindedly. He had been monopolised by some of his colleagues, and it was Sam Bennet who, as they’d arranged in advance, extracted him from the conversation and sent him on his way.

“Hey,” he said, touching the small of her back. She jumped a little. “Nervous?” he teased her.

“Should I be?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Ready to go?”

She nodded.

They made their way outside through a side door, and went to the car without being seen. The Doctor handed her in, and once he had joined her in the car, he noticed that, as she often did after a long reception, she had taken off her heels and he smiled to himself. He wondered how she managed to walk in them in the first place. He reached behind them where he had put one of her silk scarves on the back seat.

“Can I blindfold you, for the surprise?” he asked. It wasn’t strictly necessary because she didn’t know the route from the Academy to their house on Florence Gardens that well, but with her he could never be sure.

Rose nodded and turned in her seat so he could tie the scarf at the back of her head, helping him by holding the silk in place across her eyes. “Now I’m nervous,” she said as he buckled her seatbelt in for her.

“Don’t be. The streets are nearly empty round here.”

Rose laughed. She couldn’t help teasing him about his driving. She reached out to rest her hand on his thigh, as she always did.

“Where are we going?”

He snorted. “Home.”

“Right. A girl can try.”

“I’m not that stupid, thank you very much.”

They drove in silence until he pulled into the drive at the Willows. The gravel crunched beneath the tyres, and Rose turned her head towards him. He leaned across to her for a quick kiss‚ and whispered “Wait here,” then got out and ran around the car to help her out. As soon as he’d locked the car, he swept her off her feet and into his arms. With a squeal of surprise she flung her arms around his neck.

The Doctor walked around the house with her, still over the gravel path, and he hoped she thought they were anywhere but the Willows. When they reached the patio behind the conservatory, he gently set her down. “Wait here.”

Rose nodded.

He opened the door and hurried inside. He toed off his dress shoes, shucked his dinner jacket and opened his bowtie as he bent for the matches to light the candles in chandeliers and lanterns and bottles, or simply placed on the cracked dishes he had found in one of the old kitchen cabinets. The lights were reflected by the dark glass, and the whole room seemed to be moving as the flames flickered in the gentle breeze. The nocturnal sounds of the garden filtered in through the cracked windows.

He hadn't bothered with sweeping the tiled floor to rid it of the dried leaves and twigs and other debris the wind had carried in from the garden. He had covered the floor with a huge rug and had piled pillows and cushions on it.

Rose was waiting outside, blindfolded and barefoot. His heart sped up at the thought of her like that. That and what her hair would look like fanned out on the pillows and cushions made him hard.

He went outside, kissed her hard and deep sweeping her into his arms again and carrying her inside. He lay her down on the bed he'd made for them, then he allowed her to take off her blindfold.

“'s gorgeous,” she breathed.

“I want to see the candlelight on your skin,” he whispered, playing with the strap of her dress. When she raised her hands to unbutton his shirt, he stilled them. “Don't. Just... lie there. It's about you.”

She smiled, nodding, watching him brush the straps off her shoulders and down her arms. She shimmied a little to help him undress her. He took his time taking off her cream-coloured lingerie, and he looked at her naked body in the candlelight until she blushed.

“Now you,” Rose said, sitting up, pushing him down into the cushions, returning the favour. Bit by bit she revealed his pale, freckled skin, the ripple of muscles beneath it. She licked her lips as she ran her fingers across his chest, scraping the skin through the smattering of hair, circling his nipples.

He gasped, tangling his fingers in her hair. “Rose.”

Her lips followed her fingers after a lingering kiss. It was agonisingly, deliciously slow. She trailed a line of kisses and licks down his forearms, sucking on the wrist bone before drawing one finger at a time into the warm wetness of her mouth.

He nearly came then, and he cried out and bucked his hips as she purred in delight.

“Rose!”

She came up for another languid kiss, before she explored his skin from his knees upwards, sucking at his prominent hipbones but never touching his erect cock.

“Please,” he whimpered. He hadn’t planned for it to go like this. He'd wanted to do this to her, make her scream for him to fuck her as he worshipped her body. “Rose, no more.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling seductively. “Let me show you something.”

She knelt before him, spreading her knees. Then she ran her hand down her stomach, her skin shimmering in the warm light of the candles. “This is what you do to me, Doctor,” she said. She drew her fingers through her folds and held her fingers out for him to see. They were glistening with her wetness.

He licked his lips, and his cock twitched in anticipation. His own wetness was coating his pale skin. Rose noticed.

She considered, for an instant, licking her fingers clean, but as she saw him swallow hard, she decided against it. It wouldn't do for him to come before he was buried deeply inside of her. Instead, she returned her fingers to the apex of her thighs and began to tease herself.

The Doctor propped himself up on his elbows to see her better, to distract himself a bit.

“Oh Rose,” he rasped as he watched her touch herself, as her fingers disappeared inside her.

“Touch yourself, Doctor,” she whispered, her voice thick with want. Her head fell back as she pleasured herself, her thumb rolling over her clit as she set a gentle rhythm with her fingers.

“No,” the Doctor said, touching her knee, drawing lazy circles on her skin. “I won't last. You come for me. You're... you’re so beautiful, Rose.”

Her rhythm picked up as he whispered to her, and he sat up to run his hand up her arm and cup her shoulder, to trail his fingers along her clavicle. “Come for me, Rose,” he encouraged her, taking her free hand to support her.

“Yeah, yeah, I'll... oh Doctor,” she moaned his name as her orgasm washed over her and she slumped into his arms. While she rode out the last waves he found the condom he had tucked away beneath one of the cushions. He quickly disposed of its foil wrapper and rolled it on his length. Rose smiled, tip of her tongue between her lips, when she noticed what he was doing. She shifted to sit on his lap, and as she settled against him he aligned himself with her. He thought he might explode right then when she sank down on him, her muscles not having stilled yet.

“Fuck me, Doctor,” she whispered, burying her fingers in his hair, digging her fingers into the flesh of his back.

A thrill went through him at her words. “Oh yes,” he said. He rolled them over, and, hooking one arm around her leg, slid even deeper into her.

Their joined moan drowned out the crickets and the gentle whisper of the breeze in the willow's foliage.

“Please, Doctor, don't... wait, please, make love to me,” Rose whimpered, drawing him down to her for a kiss.

He set a powerful rhythm, and after a few long strokes he felt the world go white around him as he came, crying out her name. Her muscles clenched around him as she tumbled over the edge with him, her moan a distant sound through the rushing in his ears.

“Doctor?” she whispered, shifting beneath him.

“Mm. Happy Birthday, Rose.”

She kissed him thank you, smiling against his lips. “I... you need to move. Condom.”

He withdrew quickly, making sure that she was safe. After he’d disposed of the condom and cleaned himself up a little, he returned to her. She had curled up in the cushions and was dozing. She looked tired, and he didn’t want to wake her. There were a sheet and a thick duvet at the foot of their makeshift bed, and he drew them over her, tucking her in with a kiss.

He padded to the kitchen in his pants and vest to get supper out of the fridge. He was famished, and so must Rose. They’d barely eaten at the reception in anticipation of the treasures in their new fridge.

He had just finished setting the table and uncorked a bottle of champagne with a soft plop, when Rose joined him, clad in his shirt. “Home, eh?” she asked, smiling. But then her smile died on her lips as she took in the kitchen.

“Oh my God, this is...” she said, clearly at a loss for words.

“It’s not your present,” he hurried to say. “ It’s just... lucky. It arrived while you were gone. And I thought... we could, you know...”

“’s a wonderful idea,” she said, joining him to accept the glass of champagne he had filled for her. “You weren’t lying.”

“Nope,” he said, popping his p.

“Thank you, for everything, Doctor. I love you.”

They shared several kisses in between sips of their bubbly, pale pink drink.

“Hungry?” he asked eventually.

She grinned broadly, and, for lack of stools, he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her to sit on the counter.

“So, what’s my present?” she asked eventually, nibbling on a strawberry.

The one present he wanted her to have he couldn’t give her – security and peace of mind. Neither was it as grand as her parents’. “I...” he began, lowering his gaze to where his hands were resting just above her knees. “There’s something I got you a long time ago,” he said, lifting his eyes to hers. “Back when... before Bad Wolf Bay. The first time.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t... I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea. If you don’t want it, I’ll buy you something else,” he rushed to say.

“Doctor, being here, with you, like this, is wonderful enough for me. That you’ve gone to all this trouble... ‘s beautiful. I can’t wait to live here, with you,” she replied. She sipped at her champagne before leaning up to kiss him. The taste of the drink, combined with the strawberry and pure Rose, made him dizzy.

“D’you still want it?” he asked, as nervous as ever. It was something the Other had bought, after all. The Other when they’d still been One. Of course it was his present.

Rose smiled, cupping his cheek. “Of course.”

He opened one of the drawers where he’d tucked the small box away.

“One might think you’ve planned this,” she teased.

He grinned. “If you didn’t know me so well,” he said, giving her the carefully wrapped gift. “Open it,” he encouraged her, resting his forehead against hers. “I found it in the pockets of my blue suit.”

He watched Rose remove the ribbon. “Do I have to be nervous about this?” she asked.

“No. Yes,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno.”

Rose opened the box to reveal the locket. It wasn’t precious by any means; plain silver, which he’d had engraved with her initials. What made it precious was the fact that Rose had loved it because it reminded her of her grandmother. She stared at the oval locket in her palm.

“It’s... I remember that day,” she eventually said, raising her eyes to look at him. “Thank you so much, Doctor.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“Seems the kitchen isn’t the only thing that arrived while I was away,” Rose said. She was sitting on the bare window seat in the parlour, once again wrapped in his shirt. Her gaze was fixed on the chandelier Ben’s gang had put up the previous day. It truly looked magnificent in the high-ceilinged room, and he wondered what it would look like switched on. It was a huge crystal globe, made up of facetted Bohemian crystal balls the size of plums suspended from the ceiling at varying lengths of thin wire. A couple of lamps installed directly above the crystals would break the light and reflect it in colourful beams on the cream-coloured walls.

“It arrived yesterday,” the Doctor said, feeling a bit sorry for Jackie because she couldn’t see Rose’s surprise and delight. Rose had fallen in love with the chandelier the minute she’d set eyes on it, but had decided to order something more sensible, in favour of getting the antique bed they’d chosen for their bedroom. Jackie must have had it shipped to the Willows all the way from Prague. “It’s from Jackie and Pete.”

He crossed the room to join her where she was sitting, handing her a cup of tea.

Rose gingerly accepted the mug. “They shouldn’t have.”

“But you love it.”

“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” she beamed at him.

“Sleep well?” has asked, kissing her good morning. They had made love again, and again, after their supper, and then had fallen asleep tangled up in each other beneath the thick duvet in the conservatory.

She leaned into him. “I slept with you.”

He grinned, kissing her hairline. “What would you like to do today?” It was the end of the semester, so he had two weeks off. Rose had, as usual, two days off after a job in the field.

“Can we work here a little? I’d really like to get the bedroom ready so we can move in. The kitchen and this... are a wonderful surprise.”

The Doctor fetched a small carry-all from the boot of their car with their toiletries and a change of clothes. When they worked at the Willows, they wore their oldest clothes so they didn’t have to worry about staining or ripping them. He took the bag to their en-suite, and after a quick exchange of glances, they took a shower together. The shower stall was all frosted glass to about the height of the Doctor’s hips, with a low wall running along one side to separate it from the tub. She made love to him in the shower, repaying him for the things he’d done to her the previous night, the fancy shower head raining down water on both of them like heavy rain. His moan, when he came, filled the empty bathroom, and his knees gave. Rose supported him as best she could as he lowered himself down to sit in her embrace. She washed his hair as he slowly calmed, evened out his breathing, and the ripples of pleasure her fingers caused on his scalp were a faint echo of the magic she’d worked on him before.

“Let me,” he said, trailing his fingers down her torso, as he kissed her. But Rose stopped his hand with hers.

“We should get to work,” she whispered, reaching up to turn off the taps.

He nodded, but he wouldn’t let her go until he’d tasted himself on her tongue and they began to shiver a little as the steam evaporated from the shower stall.

Breakfast was quick as they polished off the leftovers from their supper the night before. When the Doctor braided Rose’s hair to keep it out of the way during work, he noticed that she had removed the pendant she usually wore and had replaced it with the locket. His heart beat a little faster, and he couldn’t help grinning. He reached around her and followed the fine necklace to where the locket rested just above the swell of her breasts. Kissing her behind the ear, he whispered, “You’re wearing it.”

Rose covered his fingers where they rested against silver and skin with hers. She turned her head a little so she could at least see him out of the corner of her eye. “Course I am.”

“But there’s nothing inside it.”

“Yet.”

“Oh?” he asked, nibbling at the corner of her jaw.

“You’ll have to do my hair again. It’s all unravelled,” she said, picking up his top hand and pressing a kiss to his fingers.

“My pleasure, Rose Tyler,” he said, raking his fingers through her hair so he could start again.

The floral wallpaper in the master bedroom, which was stylish in a retro kind of way, had to come off. It had blistered in a couple of places, and someone had started tearing it off, revealing an even older wallpaper underneath – this one even more hideous, and not at all stylish in a retro kind of way. It was orange and brown in a huge bubble pattern, definitely not something about the seventies that needed reviving.

As they ripped the two layers off, they found that the older wallpaper wouldn’t come off without damaging the paint job underneath. The Doctor gave the strip of paper a good tug to reveal two coats of paint. “You know,” he mused, stepping back and dropping the stiff, plaster-coated paper onto the floor, “this actually looks quite interesting.”

Brushing a stray lock of hair back Rose joined him. “We could... keep the most interesting patches. Frame them, to reveal a little bit of the house’s history.”

“Brilliant,” he said with glee.

They started afresh, uncovering the old colours until Rose made yet another discovery. “This place is full of surprises,” she chuckled, pointing at the bit of ceiling she had damaged as she’d tugged at a particularly wilful bit of wallpaper. “This surely isn’t the ceiling proper.” She gestured at a bit of panelling that had been revealed as the wallpaper she’d just pulled down extended up into the ceiling covering.

“Yeah,” the Doctor said, rubbing his neck. “I’ve been wondering about the lack of a cornice in here. We should have realised when we measured the rooms.”

Rose shrugged. “D’you want to see what’s behind it?” She had the mischievous twinkle in her eye he found so hard to resist.

“Yes, let’s.”

That idea turned out to be one of the worst they’d had. For when the Doctor pulled at the wood, he didn’t bring down only one of the panels, but several of them, and before they could turn round, wood, plaster and other debris came raining down on them. The Doctor pulled Rose out of harm’s way, tumbling to the floor so he could shield her with his body. One piece of wood hit him on the back of his head and his shoulder, and he lay there, breathing very deliberately as he fought nausea and disorientation. Rose coughed against his neck as the dust settled. He rolled off her, panting, wincing as his head touched the floor. That was going to be one hell of a lump.

“Are you all right? Doctor?”

He could hear her scramble to her knees and tried to open his eyes. The light seemed impossibly bright. He groaned.

Her hand was cool against his cheek, and he leaned into her touch. “Doctor?”

“’m all right,” he mumbled, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He groaned as the movement made him aware of how badly his shoulder had been struck.

“Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom,” Rose said, keeping a cautious hand on his back as he got up. Settling down on the edge of the tub, he took a couple of deep breaths to shake the feeling of disorientation. Before he knew it, Rose was back, pressing a bottle of water into his hand and opening a first aid kit that looked strangely familiar.

“That Torchwood field issue?” he asked before taking a swig.

“Mum made me put it in the downstairs bathroom,” she smiled. “Can you turn round a bit?”

He relaxed a bit as he dropped his head so she could examine it, closing his eyes as her fingers drifted over his hair. But then, inevitably, she found the spot where the piece of wood had hit him, and he flinched with an accusing cry.

“Hold still,” she said. “It’s not deep, a bit of liquid plaster should do the job.”

“Good,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“You feeling dizzy at all?”

“Part of the ceiling came down on me, how do you think I feel?” he snapped.

Rose sucked in air, then sprayed on the liquid plaster, mumbling, “Sorry.”

His hand went to the spot where the liquid plaster was drying. It felt cool and comforting. “I’m not concussed, am I?” he asked softly as she batted away his probing fingers.

“Maybe a little. We should call it a day and let Ben’s people take down the panelling. Let me have a look at the shoulder?”

“Only if you kiss it better,” he said, looking at her. “I’m sorry.”

“’s okay. You hit your head, you’re in pain,” she said, helping him out of the t-shirt. There was an angry scratch on his shoulder, a bruise already forming around it. He hissed as she cleaned it, then she kissed his shoulder, careful not to touch the injured part. “We’d better cool this.”

The ceiling incident set them back a little in their plans, but once they arrived back at the flat, both of them were glad for the rest. They had stripped most of the room of the old wallpaper, only the corner where they wanted to put their bed wasn’t finished yet. “Besides,” Rose pointed out, “you’ve made so much progress lately that a bit of rest won’t do any harm.”

Again, he was very tempted to tell her why he had made so much progress, but in the end he just didn’t have the heart. They snuggled up on the sofa together to watch a film, but before long the Doctor fell asleep.

-:-

“Feels a bit weird, doesn’t it?” he asked a couple of days later while the were packing up the books from Rose’s small library. In all the years she’d been in this universe she had acquired quite a collection – reading, she claimed, was the best medicine. She’d started reading in the TARDIS to soothe herself or calm down. At first, she’d only read books she was familiar with, children’s books mostly because they offered her the safe haven of childhood memories in the vastness of time and space.

“Why’d you stop reading?” the Doctor asked, labelling yet another box with his name. His own library had grown quite a bit in the nine months since his arrival.

Rose studied the spines of the books she was holding, running a finger across them. “It wasn’t cool with my tribe at school. And then Jimmy happened, and... I dropped out of school altogether. Broke Mum’s heart, it did. She’d,” she sighed, “she’d always dreamed of a better future for me. My grades were good, got that from Dad, she said.”

“And then it was the awfulness of travelling with me,” the Doctor said, only half joking.

Rose chuckled. “Yeah.” She put the books into the box and straightened to get the next couple of volumes off the shelf. When she saw him staring at her, she paused.

“Was it really that awful?” he asked, his heart in his mouth.

“It could be... lonely. It was never really awful... and when it was, it was–” She interrupted herself, looking down at the books in her hand.

He swallowed. He’d had no idea, but he understood. The Donna in him had been whispering to him along these lines, but he had never really listened. He blushed, leaning against the edge of the desk, rubbing the back of his neck. “Lonely,” he finished the sentence for her. “Always moving on, never looking back. We never really talked about things, did we.”

Rose sighed. Her honesty was brutal as it was soothing. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

The Doctor snorted, rolling his head back and from left to right, shrugging to relieve the tension in his shoulders a bit. The one that had taken the blow from the ceiling was still a bit sore. “Don’t. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I could have pressed you,” she insisted.

“Nah,” he said, pushing himself off the edge of the desk. “It was always about me, running.”

“I guess so,” Rose said. “’s what kept you sane, right?”

He looked at her, stopping in his tracks. She was absolutely right. Still, a bit of soul-searching now and then wouldn’t have hurt. But then he’d always had Rose to ground him, or Martha, or Donna. He wondered who was doing this for the Other right now. “Yeah,” he squeaked, staring at his stocking feet. Rose did the right thing then; somehow she always knew what he needed. She hugged him, and he held her tight.

-:-

The removed ceiling panels hadn’t only revealed a partially damaged cornice, but also a fresco of silver leaves. It covered the ceiling above the spot in which they’d planned to put the bed. “What an odd thing to have on your ceiling,” Rose mused. “But it looks like you’re sitting beneath the willows outside. “

“It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?” the Doctor mused, climbing the ladder to examine the damaged cornice. Having slid on his glasses, he ran his fingers over the parts where the plaster had come off, interrupting the intricate pattern of leaves and swirling tendrils. “I wonder what did this.”

“We’d have to ask someone,” Rose said, putting her hand onto the frame of the ladder. “What shall we do?”

“Let’s leave it for the moment. At least we know there was a reason for covering up the ceiling with those panels,” the Doctor said, pulling the glasses off. He climbed down. “I quite like the leaves, though. We’ll feel like we're lying underneath a tree.”

“Just like in Tuscany,” Rose said, smiling. Her hand flew to her mouth when she realised what the leaves also meant to him.

“’s okay, Rose,” he said, bending to kiss her. “It’ll be nice. And the olives mean just as much to me as the trees of Gallifrey.”

They were nearly done with painting the bedroom ceiling – they kept the tricky business of painting around the leaves for after lunch – when Claire Manning dropped in again, like the perfect sutler she was, providing them with hot,creamy soup and fresh bread. She took in the bright kitchen wide-eyed, admiring the antique dining table Rose had restored so lovingly, complimenting the modern furniture. “It’s completely different from what I remember it to be, but it’s lovely,” she exclaimed, sitting down with them at the table, sharing their meal.

“Tell us, what was life like here when you were a girl?” Rose asked, topping up their mineral water.

“It was the late forties,” Claire said. “Auntie had a cook, and I loved it here, particularly when Cook was baking. The place wasn’t nearly as bright as it is now, but it was just as homey. I’ve used those memories quite often in my stories.”

“Do you have grandchildren?” Rose asked, mopping up the remainder of her chicken-and-leek soup with a chunk of bread.

Claire laughed. “I don’t have any grandchildren of my own, love. No, I’m a writer, and I’ve used this image a lot in my stories. Food has always played an important role in my writing.”

“Oh!” the Doctor exclaimed. “You’re Claire Manning!”

Claire nodded, waving him off. “I guess I am.”

Then Rose realised. “You... my little brother adores your stories!”

“Nothing to get excited about,” Claire said. “I enjoy telling stories.”

“That’s why you were so interested in the Weeping Angels,” the Doctor said.

This time, Claire smiled. She looked at the ceiling before she met his gaze. “Yes.”

“Weeping Angels?” Rose repeated.

The Doctor sighed. “Statues of stone that feed off human energy. When they set eyes on you they’ll displace you in time. You’ll be able to live your life, but not in your own time.”

“That’s a terrifying idea,” Claire said, setting down her spoon, the sound a bright tinkling in the silence of the room.

“Did you...” Rose began, before she realised that they had company, “have the idea when we went to the British Museum the other day?”

“Yeah. I’d not meant to tell you about it yet,” the Doctor said, quickly catching on. “I’d wanted to mull the idea over for a bit before telling you.”

“Are you a writer too?” Claire asked, her eyes lighting up.

The Doctor laughed. “Not really, no. I just... come up with some bedtime stories for Rose’s little brother. He can be quite insatiable.”

Claire chuckled. “Well, that’s how it starts. Those Weeping Angels sound wonderfully scary, perfect for a children’s story.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The Weeping Angels had stranded him in 1969, and if it hadn’t been for clever Sally Sparrow, he’d still be trapped there, and quite a bit older, too. “I don’t think so. I’ve got enough to do at the Academy. And the stories aren’t anything special anyway. Yours are much better,” he said, flashing her a wide grin.

“Claire, can I ask you something about the house?” Rose began, stacking their soup bowls.

“Of course, dear,” Claire said, shifting her glance slowly from him to Rose.

“When we removed the wood panelling on the ceiling in the master bedroom, we found leaves painted on, and the cornice is quite damaged.”

“Oh?” she asked. “I... I don’t seem to remember those. Would you mind?”

They got up and went upstairs to the master bedroom suite. Claire stood there, taking it all in, admiring the room as it was bathed in the light of the gorgeous spring day. Eventually, she shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I can’t. I wasn’t in here very often. What a wonderful idea, though, to have those leaves on the ceiling... they look like shadows from the willow outside,” she said, her voice very soft. “Do you think they’re just on the ceiling?” she said, turning towards them, as she gestured at some of the leaves moulding themselves onto the cornice.

“Well, let’s find out!” Rose said, roused from her disappointment. She grabbed a spatula and set to work, stripping the layers of wallpaper. They came off easily enough, so all he and Claire had to do was pull at the strips Rose worked free, and peel them off. Strangely enough, the paper came off mostly without damaging the leaves that were indeed painted on the wall, and seemed to shift as the shadows of the real leaves outside danced over the wall.

“That is beautiful!” Claire exclaimed.

He feathered his fingers over the silvery green paint that stood out against the creamy background colour of the wall. It felt very smooth, as if a protective layer of varnish had been put over it. “Yeah, it is,” he mused.

“Do you want to keep them?” Rose asked, mirroring his fingers’ movement. “I mean, it’s going to be quite a lot of work, painting around the leaves.” She stepped back, surveying the wall.

He swallowed. “Yes, I think so. I’d like to keep them. They remind me of... of Tuscany,” he finished lamely, remembering that they weren’t alone. Claire seemed to have noticed that there was more to the leaves than he let on, but she pretended not to have noticed.

Instead, she glanced at her watch. “Gosh, is that the time? I’d better get back behind my desk. Don’t bother, I’ll find my way outside.”

“Thanks for lunch, Claire,” Rose said, squeezing the older woman’s arm. “You must come for proper dinner when we’ve moved in. John is shaping up well as a cook. A great cook.”

After Claire left, they set to work, filling the space between the leaves with the light paint, and, armed with artist’s brushes, re-painted the leaves with the silver green paint they'd already bought. They worked in silence, moving around each other and refilling their tubs of paint with the efficient ease of people who had worked a lot together and anticipated each other’s next step. It was beginning to grow dark outside when they stepped back, stretching, to admire their work.

“I could do with a long soak now,” Rose groaned, rolling her shoulders.

“But it certainly was well worth all the hard work,” he said, putting down his brush and tub. “Painting the rest of the room will be much faster, and then we can move in.” He turned towards her, his solemn face lighting up at the thought. “I can’t wait to live here with you,” he said, the Donna inside him overwhelming him with her giddiness at the thought.

“Neither can I,” Rose said, closing the distance between them, pulling his glasses off his nose to draw him down for a long kiss.

-:-

They slept at the Willows for the first time a week after Rose’s birthday, in their bedroom proper. The house was full of unpacked boxes, bubble-wrapped picture frames and haphazardly stacked small furniture. Once the movers had left, long after tea-time, they decided to call it a day. They had some takeaway for supper, sitting at the kitchen table on the benches that had been delivered the previous day. The kitchen and the en-suite were the only half-way presentable rooms; Rose had insisted they finish them first, because they’d really need them. The rest could wait.

Together they unwrapped the duvet, the pillows and clean sheets from the huge black rubbish bags they’d put them in once Rose had decided which to use. They made their new bed quickly. It was a grand four-poster made of dark wood, with beautifully turned and carved posts and even a blanket rail doubling for the footboard. They had found it during one of their strolls through an indoor flea market. Rose had picked up a photo of it that had been put up instead of the actual bed. Their eyes locked and with simultaneous nods they agreed – this was the one they wanted. When they saw it for the first time they realised why the previous owners hadn’t brought it to the flea market: it was huge, and quite heavy. The movers had cursed quite colourfully as they’d lugged it up the suddenly narrow staircase to the master bedroom, where they’d assembled it beneath the painted canopy of leaves.

When they folded back the dark, dusty green duvet, the Doctor noted with a fluttering in his stomach that Rose had that glint her in eyes that told him she was up to no good – in a good way. Suddenly, he found he didn’t feel so tired anymore.

“You go ahead,” Rose said, glancing towards the door to the en-suite. He nodded, once his initial disappointment had given way to more of the fluttering in his stomach.

As he showered, he could hear water rushing in the second-floor bathroom. He frowned a little. As he stepped out of the stall and towelled himself dry, he strained his ears but could hear nothing. “What are you up to, Rose Tyler?” he muttered, wrapping the damp towel around his hips.

He gasped when he returned, barefoot, to their bedroom. She had moved the collection of candles and lights from the conservatory to their bedroom, which was still empty except for their bed and a stool doubling for a bedside table. In the flickering candle-light the painted leaves seemed to move as if in a breeze. He absent-mindedly accepted the glass Rose handed him as his eyes swept through the room. They had decided not to paint one of the walls green, after all. His eyes paused on the silver champagne bucket on the mantelpiece.

“You found that,” he chuckled, turning towards her as she stood next to him. She was wearing the cream-coloured set of lingerie he had peeled off her on her birthday. A pleasurable shiver coursed down his spine. Again, he felt himself harden.

“A girl’s got to have her priorities sorted,” Rose said, the tip of her tongue showing in the corner of her mouth. She clinked her glass to his. “Welcome home, Doctor.”

He swallowed. He suddenly felt himself tongue-tied, his heart beating a rapid rhythm against his ribs. “It... it feels like coming home in a way, doesn’t it?”

Rose smiled at him over the rim of her glass.

“I mean... I’ve felt at home with you for so long, but... this is something different,” he said.

“Domestic?”

He chuckled. “That it certainly is.”

A shadow flitted over Rose’s face.

“It’s our life now. And I’m unbelievably lucky to have it with you.”

They each sipped at their champagne before Rose took his glass and put them down on the stool. Then she took his hand and led him to the bed, where she tugged at his towel to reveal his hardness. Smiling, she closed the distance between them and pulled his face down for a lingering deep kiss. “I love you, Doctor.”

They stood in a tight embrace, exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. In between kisses he managed to take off her bra and knickers. He handed her onto the bed, where he gestured for her to stretch out on the crisp sheets, and then he began a lengthy, and thorough, exploration of her body. When she tried to repay him, he murmured something about having to tie her to the blanket rail, which was the very first idea he’d had when she’d shown him the photograph of the bed. “Not tonight, though,” she whispered, lying back to enjoy.

“Not tonight, no,” he said, kissing her.

He caressed and stroked her to an orgasm, spooned up behind her, his erection trapped between their bodies. As she arched away from him and into his arms, her bum brushed it so exquisitely that he was afraid he’d join her as she came. He was so tired that it took an enormous amount of willpower to hold back. When Rose rolled the condom on him, he fared a little better, but as soon as he aligned himself with her, cradled between her legs, holding her close to him, he knew it would only take him a few thrusts to give himself the release he so badly needed. He wrapped an arm around her, propping himself up with his free hand as he began to set a rhythm. Rose encouraged him with softly whispered words and her heel digging into his bum. He came with her name on his lips, a raw and gurgling sound, as he fell into her arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said, rolling away from her much too soon. He cleaned up, and returned with their champagne glasses.

“What for?” Rose asked, pulling the sheet and the duvet over them.

“I didn’t make this last,” he said, yawning. “I’m knackered.”

“So’m I, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t like it. It was lovely, in its... sleepy kind of way,” she said, cupping his cheek. “We’ll celebrate tomorrow. Properly.”

“Oh yes,” he grinned, draining his glass and snuggling up to her.

But they didn’t.

Rose had been working in her room when he left to pick up their lunch, and when he returned he found her room empty, the paint roller dropped just outside the foil covering the floor. Her mobile sat on one of the windowsills, her handbag was where she’d left it, and so was her ring. She’d at least take her purse and mobile if she needed to pop out.

A quick search of the house and the garden, and then of the house again, made panic grow in him. Eventually, he returned to her room, but it was still empty. He shivered in the vastness of its emptiness, at the currents at work in the airy room. Both sash windows were open to allow in the breeze.

“Rose?” he shouted, jumping out into the hall.

His voice echoed up and down the stairs.

“Rose!” he cried.

Nothing.

“Rose!” he yelled.

But Rose was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The Doctor just stood, staring at his mobile long after Rose's picture had been replaced with the screen saver. He had followed his first instinct, which was to call Pete. “Rose is gone,” he somehow had managed to tell him. The long silence at the other end didn't surprise him. This had something to do with Rose's awkward behaviour of late, and Pete, instead of panicking, took it all in, and probably deliberated which plan to put into action.

“D'you hear me? Rose is–” the Doctor repeated when the silence became unbearable.

“I did hear you. Are you sure she's gone?” Pete said, his words calm, but clipped and measured. He was just as scared as he was, the Doctor realised. Even if he had probably been expecting a call like this sooner or later.

“She dropped the paint roller where she was. Her things are still here. She'd never leave without them, and she would have put her tools away before leaving,” the Doctor said, his words tense as he felt his patience running out. “She'd have left me a note.”

“Of course,” Pete said, appeasing him. “We have to be sure.”

The Doctor scrubbed his free hand over his face, as he leaned against the wall outside Rose's room. “What is this about, Pete?”

Rose's father hesitated before he said, “I'll be over at the house shortly. Don't call anyone else, just wait for me, okay?”

The Doctor nodded.

“Doctor? Did you hear me?”

He drew in a steadying breath. “Yes.”

“Good. Just wait.”

As if there was anything else he could do. He slid down the wall and just sat, staring off into the distance. The same questions repeated themselves over and over again in his head.

He jumped a little as tyres crunched on the gravel drive. He bounded into the kitchen to check who it was, hoping against hope, and reason, that it was Rose being dropped off. But it was Pete's dark Bavarian limousine. Disappointment and relief thrummed through him, and he went to open the back door. Pete wasn't on his own. A slightly nervous looking Indian man stood just behind him, dressed in a smart suit but without a tie, his Oxford undone at the collar. His black hair was slightly wavy and kept in check by being cut very short.

“John,” Pete said, reaching for his hand. Pete looked pale, but he was as composed as ever. Whereas, he thought, he probably looked the nervous wreck he felt. He had to pull himself together. He couldn't fall apart now, that wouldn't bring Rose back. “Meet DI Hari Younis, from the Met. Hari, this is Dr John Noble. Rose's boyfriend.”

“It's a pleasure,” he mumbled, shaking his hand and stepping aside for them so they could enter. Hari's handshake was firm, and his dark eyes flashed in sympathy as their eyes locked. The Doctor gestured for the two men to sit at the kitchen table. Unable to settle down himself, he leaned against the breakfast bar behind the table, crossing his arms.

“You're well prepared, Pete,” he eventually said, shifting his gaze from the window to the blond man. The fact that he and the DI had arrived in the same car suggested a familiarity between the two men that begged explanation.

“Yes.”

“Care to tell me what's going on?” the Doctor said, his tone clipped. Controlling his irritation was very hard. There was something going on. Something to do with Rose, and he deserved to know what it was. With Rose and her strange behaviour of late.

“Why don't you sit down?” Hari suggested. He was a soft-spoken man, his eyes kind.

“I'm quite comfortable.”

“John,” Pete began, and the Doctor looked away. This didn't feel right. Pete never addressed him with the name on his papers. He was playing a game, to protect himself as much as the Doctor. He was playing a role, when Rose was so much more important. Was there any hope of Pete being honest with him about what had happened? An ugly suspicion began to form at the back of his mind, and he sucked in the air, staring at his arms as they were folded in front of his chest.

“Rose has been receiving some vicious, worrying letters by an overly ardent admirer,” Hari began. “They made quite a few threats, including kidnapping her. She and Pete contacted me, and we started an investigation right away, but I'm afraid we've been unsuccessful. We feared that something like this might happen.”

“And yet you did nothing to protect her,” the Doctor ground out.

“For a reason,” Hari said, as calm as ever. “We didn't want to endanger the investigation. We were hoping to reveal the identity of the sender before they could follow through.”

“You didn't take them seriously!” the Doctor spat.

“We–” Hari's protest was weak.

“You've known about this for how long? And you didn't think to tell me about it?” the Doctor said, his voice raised, and trembling with barely concealed rage. “Do you have any idea what...” He interrupted himself. How worried he had been, worried sick that she was ill – terminally so, that happiness was slipping from his fingers just as he'd found some semblance of peace. Hadn't it been hard enough to realise he'd never travel the stars and centuries again? He had been terrified that she was going to leave him because she suddenly found she couldn't live with him after all, that she still loved the Other. That he was just a consolation prize after all. It was hard to form a coherent thought. He reached behind himself to grip the edge of the bar, setting his jaw.

“We did take the threat seriously, John,” Pete said calmly. “That's why we’ve been working with the Met.”

The Doctor pushed himself away from the counter and rubbed his hands over his face. Tears were threatening to spill. “Why didn't you protect her? Put some... PC outside our house?” he asked, more reasonably now. He trusted Pete. “Why didn't you tell me? Or Jackie? I heard you, the other day.”

“Because we know how fiercely protective you are of Rose. Both you and Jacks. It would have made things more complicated,” Pete explained.

The Doctor nodded slowly. “Sure. I see.” He exhaled, dropping his hands by his sides dejectedly. Pete did have a point. Still, it hurt.

“Can I ask you a couple of questions?” the DI asked, producing a black notebook and a silver-topped pencil.

The Doctor nodded. “Would you care for a cuppa? I could need one,” he said flatly. As his rage left him, he felt nothing but emptiness. He wasn't sure if he disliked that unfamiliar sensation. It must be the Donna in him.

“That would be lovely,” Hari said. “Can I take a look at the room Rose was working in?” “Sure,” he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the main staircase.

“I'll take him,” Pete offered, and the Doctor flashed him a brief smile of thanks. He needed a moment or two to gather his thoughts. Although still unfamiliar with the new kitchen, the practised movements with which he prepared three mugs of tea were strangely comforting. He could see the reasoning behind their decisions, yet it did nothing to assuage his feeling of being left out, of not having earned anyone's trust. Did they still think he had to be handled with kid gloves because he ran away when he first came here? If that was the case he was afraid that none of them, including Rose, really knew him. And that idea stung worse than all the other thoughts taken together.

Also, he doubted that Rose had been kidnapped from the Willows. As shocking as the thought was that someone would break into their place, their safe haven, when he had returned from his errand, he'd not had the impression of something foul being at work. Neither the front door nor the back door had been forced – or the conservatory doors, for that matter – and all the windows were still intact. What if she knew the person who had sent her the letters, and she'd invited them in willingly?

Still didn't explain why she'd dropped the paint roller on the newly sanded floorboards.

Maybe they had startled her? Grabbed her? In a room as empty as hers, there would be hardly any signs of struggle. There was nothing but the paint roller suggesting that she didn't leave the room of her own volition.

He was fishing the teabags out of the mugs when Pete and the inspector returned from their trip upstairs. He turned towards them, opening his mouth to tell them of his latest thought but closed it, focusing on the task at hand instead.

However, once they’d sat down with their tea he shared his theory with them.

“Do you have any idea who this person could be? Any new acquaintances? Anyone either you or Rose have only known for a little while?” Hari asked, one eyebrow raised, his pencil at the ready again once he'd sipped carefully at his tea.

Only one name came to mind, and the idea was too preposterous to share. Although he hardly knew Claire, there was nothing about the woman that suggested that she would do anything like that. She had probably had her share of weird fans too, as a well-known writer. She was very popular, albeit not as much of a public persona as Rose was.

He told Pete and Hari as much.

“You wouldn't believe what nice little old ladies are capable of,” Hari muttered under his breath, but when he saw the Doctor's thunderous glare, he bowed his head, scratching something out on his notepad. “I'll still have to ask her, anyway. She might have seen something.”

The Doctor nodded his head.

“How long were you gone for?” Hari asked, and before the Doctor knew it, they were in the middle of his testimony. He tried to be patient with the young DI, and answered all the questions in as much detail as possible. He wanted things to happen, the search for Rose to start. To have that bastard caught.

“Do you have any clues at all who sent those letters?” the Doctor asked after Hari had finally snapped his notebook shut, secured the covers with an elastic, and slipped it into his coat pocket.

“I'm sorry I can't tell you that,” the inspector said.

The Doctor nodded minutely. “Procedure?”

“Safety measure, really,” Hari said, pursing his lips. “There's going to be quite a bit of media attention.”

The Doctor felt something inside him go cold. His recent meeting with the media at the Library opening still made his skin crawl. There had been some flattering pictures of them, true, and a couple of nice comments and articles, but still he felt all the attention was unwarranted. Most of it had been, in fact, after the fire. He'd just done what anyone else would have done as well. Nothing special there. And yet it had drawn everyone's attention. Anyone's attention, the stalker's included‚ perhaps? “Can't we keep the media out of this? I'm sure it'd make your work easier,” he suggested.

Hari lowered his gaze onto his olive-skinned hands. He had flattened them on the dark tabletop, framing his empty mug of tea.

“That's taken care of,” Pete said.

The Doctor nodded, suspecting it would be the usual cover story they used for when she worked a case for Torchwood that took her out of the public's eye for a longer stretch of time. They led a fairly quiet life, but still there was the occasional event they were expected to attend, and her failure to do so always seemed to merit major speculation. As far as he remembered, no such event would be coming up any time soon.

“Have you told Jackie, though?” he asked.

The muscles in Pete's jaw tensed visibly. “We came here straight away.”

“She's going to be furious.”

“I'm upset by her disappearance too, John.” For a moment the Doctor thought Pete was going to address him by his name.

“What are you going to tell Tony?”

“That she's travelling.”

“You... he can stay here if... if you need a quiet moment,” the Doctor offered. He didn't want to be alone, loathed the idea of not having anyone around in the big house. Without Rose, it seemed empty and soulless. And to think that Rose had been taken from here... maybe it wasn't such a good idea for Tony to come after all.

“Thank you, but I think...”

“It's not such a good idea, is it?”

Pete pursed his lips, smiling. “No.”

The Doctor nodded. He could always hide in his office at the Academy. It wasn't unheard of for him to stay there late when Rose was on a business trip.

Hari phoned for forensics, and before the Doctor knew it, the Willows was swarming with people in white overalls and green surgical gloves, dusting the place down for fingerprints, putting up little numbered cards and flashing their digital cameras. Her mobile was taken as evidence, a note scribbled about her handbag and purse and jewellery. Then it was all over, and he was alone.

After the Met were gone, he sat on the bottom steps of the first floor landing, hugging his knees, staring into Rose's empty room. He couldn't bring himself to go in there again, but neither could he bring himself to leave its proximity.

-:-

The Willows felt silent and hollow in Rose's absence, almost oppressively so, and he roused himself from the blankness he'd allowed to descend on his thoughts with a shiver. He stretched his limbs which had gone stiff from sitting on the stairs for such a long time. He was still reluctant to leave his spot, but his reasonable Donna part told him – and it was right too – that keeping a vigil wouldn't bring Rose back. But what would?

His mobile trilled with the ring tone he'd set for the Tyler Mansion. Sighing, he deliberated not picking it up for a second before the desperate part in him screamed something about this being Important.

He hastily punched the green button, feeling light-headed. “Yes?”

“Doctor, it's Jackie.”

What was he going to tell her? He swallowed.

“I've no idea why my significant other failed to offer you to stay with us. For however long you'd like,” Jackie said, her voice brusque.

The Doctor felt the air leave his lungs, and for a moment he felt as winded as he was from one of her slaps. She was looking after him? He had prepared himself for some vicious verbal dressing-down. “Jackie, I'm so sorry,” he managed to say eventually, sitting back down in the spot he had just abandoned.

“'s not your fault, now, is it?” Jackie said softly.

“Not this time, no,” he said. He remembered when he'd first taken Rose back to the Powell Estates. They'd been gone for quite a bit longer than he'd thought. Now he could empathize with what missing a loved one must be like.

“Don't you ever give up hope, Doctor,” Jackie admonished him. Her words sounded rather harsh, and he wondered whom she was trying to comfort with her words. Her voice was much softer when she added, “You're welcome to stay with us, Doctor. You really shouldn't be alone. Not tonight.”

“I–” he choked. He wanted to accept her invitation. But. “What if she comes back and finds the place empty? I couldn't do it, Jackie.” He needed to be by himself, to sort through his feelings, to make sure he didn't lash out at anyone.

Jackie sighed. “Yeah, you're probably right. I just wanted you to know. If there's anything you need, please do call.”

“Tony's welcome for a sleepover, though,” he said, “not tonight, but if you and Pete need some time... I'd feel honoured to have him over. I'll make sure his room is ready in case he comes over.”

The faint rustle of static filled his ear for a moment.

“You're fantastic, Doctor,” Jackie said. “Thank you.”

After she'd told him, again, to call if there was anything he needed, she hung up.

The Willows was filled with quiet again.

It didn't feel right.

He slipped his mobile into the pocket of his jeans, adjusted it slightly, then climbed the stairs to the second floor and surveyed the chaos that was Tony's room.

“Allons-y,” he muttered, pulling the retractable knife from his other pocket, and started to cut open the boxes containing Tony's furniture.

-:-

Exhausted, he collapsed onto the sofa in the library some time in the small hours. He'd taken a shower, manky and sore as he was, but hadn’t been able to face sleeping in the bed he'd shared with Rose the previous night. He took her pillow and a spare blanket he found somewhere and curled up with those in the library, which was cluttered with boxes of books waiting to be unpacked.

His dreams were filled with images of Rose.

Rose as she smiled her unique Rose smile for him.

Rose as she gingerly sipped at her tea, mug clutched in both hands.

Rose as she moved beneath him.

Rose tied up on their bed, head thrown back as she screamed in agony.

The agony of being tormented by his fingers and tongue.

The agony of being tormented by the fingers and tongue of another.

The agony of being tormented by the cock of another.

He fell off the sofa with a noisy thump that sent jolts of pain through his still sore shoulder, the blanket wrapped around his legs.

He sat up, dizzy, shaking his head. As his eyes adjusted to the grey light of early morning, a rush of guilt washed over him. Not for one second since her disappearance had he wondered where Rose was, or how she was. Now his subconscious had taken care of that, rather viciously, by supplying him with the most disturbing images. They wouldn't go away easily, he knew, reminding him of his neglect of wondering where she was, and how she was.

Finally, he was able to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Rose ended up on her bum because her body felt like someone had cut the ground from under her feet and acted accordingly. She felt dizzy, and not a little nauseated. She gagged, but all her body needed was a helping of fresh air. The world around her was strangely quiet, and when she opened her eyes to take in her surroundings, a well-known quotation flitted through her mind; that particular book had never been published in Pete's World.

“You all right, Miss?” a gangly boy asked her. He wore short trousers and knee-length socks, a button-down shirt, and a cap.

“I'm definitely not in Kansas any more,” Rose mumbled. But when the hell was she?

“Eh?” the boy asked.

“I'm sorry. I guess I'm all right, thanks,” Rose said, climbing to her feet, dusting off her bum. It was still hurting, but apart from that, she didn't seem to be injured.

The boy shook his head, then went on his way.

Rose took in her surroundings. She was still in Florence Gardens; the Willows sat just behind that wall and shrubbery. The street, however, was paved with cobble-stones, and there were no cars parked at the kerb. A woman her age came walking down the street, carrying a basket full of groceries. If Rose guessed correctly, the woman’s clothes seemed to date to the 1930s – she could never be too sure in Pete's World, from what she remembered seeing in old films and on the internet. She smoothed down her T-shirt and noted with horror her paint-spotted hands and the tear in the left knee of her jeans.

“Hello,” the woman said. Her light-brown hair was coiffed into perfect waves that came down to her shoulders. “Can I help you?” she looked curiously at Rose, no doubt taking in her unusual attire.

Rose flushed. “Yes, I... I seem to be a little lost,” she said, although she knew exactly where she was. She sneaked a glance at the newspaper in the woman's basket. She couldn't make out the full date, but the year read 1938.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked, taking her by the arm to steady her.

“I... I... don't belong here,” Rose muttered.

The woman exhaled, but smiled. “Why don't you come inside for a cuppa? I've got a telephone, too, if there's someone you'd like to give a ring?”

Rose blinked as the woman opened the garden gate right behind her. This was Claire Manning's place. But surely... no, the eye-colour wasn't right. Claire's eyes were a cornflower blue. This woman's eyes were a warm grey.

“My name's Rose Tyler,” Rose said. “I l... I live not far from here.”

“I thought you said you were lost?” the woman asked, putting down her shopping on the kitchen table.

“Well, I am... but... not lost in... space,” Rose said, wincing at her words. What was wrong with her?

“You're a strange one, Rose Tyler,” she said. She smiled briefly, extending her hand. “And I'm being rude. I'm Estelle Cole.”

Rose was about to shake Estelle's hand when she noticed the paint splattered on her skin like white freckles. “I... I'm sorry. Where can I wash my hands?”

Estelle gestured toward the sink. “There's some soap, too.”

While Rose scrubbed furiously at her skin, watching it turn red under the cold water, she tried to regain a modicum of composure. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, most of all, strangely enough, who lived in the house across the street. She shook her head. No, she needed to find out what had displaced her in time.

“Do you have the Yellow Pages?”

“The Yellow Pages?” Estelle asked. She was standing next to her, holding out a towel for her in one hand, and the kettle in the other.

“A... telephone directory?”

“You can ask the switchboard,” Estelle replied, understanding softening her features. “The telephone is in the hall.” She gestured at the open door.

“Thank you.”

To Rose's endless surprise, the operator put her right through to Torchwood. She asked to speak to Henrietta Morton, the only person she knew of who worked for Torchwood at that time. “I'm afraid Miss Morton doesn't work here,” the receptionist told her.

Rose opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, unable to force her whirling thoughts into words for a couple of heartbeats. “Are... are you quite sure, though? Maybe she's new?”

“I'm sorry, Miss, I'm quite positive she doesn't work here. Is there anyone else I can put you through to?” the receptionist asked.

“No, I... thanks, I'm fine.” Rose, however, jotted down Torchwood's phone number and address on the notepad by the phone. She went back to the kitchen and sat heavily in one of the chairs. The receptionist had probably given her just a cover story. Rose wouldn't allow herself to be turned away just like that. At least she hoped that was how Torchwood had worked back then... now. Whenever that was.

“Well, did you get what you wanted?” Estelle asked.

Rose looked up from the slip of paper she'd been staring at. “No, I... it's funny, though, because I was fairly sure the person I wanted to call worked at that place.”

“Oh, that's strange,” Estelle said, warming the teapot.

“Do you know who lives in the house across the street?” Rose asked, shaking off her confusion.

“No, I'm sorry,” Estelle said, pouring each of them a cup of tea. “Dear me, Rose, you've gone all pale. Are you sure you're all right?”

Rose was shaking all over. Estelle had just shattered another hope of finding out about her new home with that casual remark. Of course, Estelle couldn't possibly know about that. Asking about the Willows had given her a sense of security in this strange time, and it had given her some comfort to enquire after something familiar after she'd been torn away from her life so suddenly. Now all she could do was find Torchwood and try to get someone to talk to her. “I'm always all right, thanks.”

“You don't look like it,” Estelle said.

“I...”

Estelle's face lit up. “You aren't pregnant, are you?”

Rose stared at her. “No. I'm not pregnant.” She sipped her tea.

“Oh,” Estelle said. “I'm sorry.”

“It's just not a good time right now,” Rose said, staring into her tea. Right now was not exactly a fortunate choice of words.

“The neighbours opposite are going to move in next week,” her host offered eventually, probably sensing that this particular information would calm her. “I haven't met them yet, though.”

Rose nodded. Next week was an awful long stretch of time.

She sipped slowly at her tea, wanting to draw this out, to put off the inevitable. She'd have to leave at some point but the thing was she had nowhere to go, and no money at all. Even if there were a fiver in one of her jeans pockets it wouldn't be of much help. The currency had changed after the Great Crisis of 1947, to ensure that the economy recovered after chaos and mayhem had been caused by terrorist bankers – for a year or two, bartering had dominated the market after the terrorists had crashed the stock exchange with false rumours.

“You really are quite lost, aren't you?” Estelle said eventually.

Rose nodded reluctantly.

Just as Estelle was about to ask another question, they heard a car pull into the gravel driveway. Estelle frowned, which immediately set off Rose's internal alarm. Clearly, her host hadn't expected visitors. She rose from her seat and followed Estelle to the kitchen window overlooking the front garden. A huge dark car had pulled up, and it looked like it had driven right through the silver screen of a 1930s film. Of course it would, Rose admonished herself. It took her longer than she liked to get used to the thought of being stuck in a world she only knew from the special Sunday matinee films at the arthouse cinema around the corner.

A man jumped out of the passenger's side an instant before the driver got out, but Rose didn't pay him any attention. She knew the man from the passenger seat. He wore the long greatcoat with three stripes on his epaulettes, and the pale blue shirt, open at the neck, to go with it. His jaw was set in determination, and his brown hair was just a touch more rebellious than she remembered it to be. “Jack!” she whispered.

“What?” Estelle asked, taking a step back.

“I... I'm sorry, but he looks awfully like someone I know... I've met a lifetime ago. Jack and him,” she gestured at the man who must be Jack Harkness, the Jack Harkness of Pete's World.

Estelle relaxed slightly, but still looked at her warily. Which was a good thing, really, because it meant that Estelle knew Jack – or whatever his name was. She stepped away from the window, towards the kitchen door. “The funny thing is, he's called Jack too,” Estelle said.

Rose stood, frozen, at Estelle's kitchen window. She'd never expected to meet Jack's twin in Pete's World. Chances were quite small of that happening, too, because Jack was originally from the 51st century. She just hoped that this universe's Jack was just like the Jack Harkness she'd come to know and love – in her own special way – back in the Other Universe.

Another thought struck her. Estelle knew Jack.

“Hello there, sweetheart,” he said, sweeping Estelle into a tight embrace, kissing her gently as he stepped inside the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” Estelle asked, softly, her hands smoothed against the lapels of his coat.

“Something came up in the neighbourhood and I thought I'd say hello,” he said softly, his full attention on the woman in his arms. Clearly, they were lovers. Rose smiled, one corner of her mouth drawn up as she took in the scene. Jack, who had flirted with everything that was alive and kicking in her original universe, did seem to have it in him, after all, to settle down with a woman he loved. Well, it remained to be seen if he'd really settled down, but – Rose was just very glad to see a familiar face.

“Oh, you have a guest,” Jack said, pulling back. He closed the distance between them in three long strides, extending his hand to her. Rose took it, and smiled when he cupped it with his free hand to breathe a kiss over her knuckles.

“Oh, this is Rose Tyler,” Estelle said, joining them. “She's lost.”

Jack looked her up and down, taking in her attire, his radiant smile never faltering. “I can see that.” His blue eyes flashed in recognition, but Rose wasn't sure why. As far as this Jack was concerned, they'd never met.

“Rose, this is Captain Jack Harkness. My... boyfriend,” Estelle said.

“It's a pleasure,” Rose said, smiling.

Jack's eyes narrowed and he tilted his head a little. “Have we met?”

“No, we haven't,” she replied.

“I'm sure I'd have remembered that,” Jack said, grinning, but Rose noticed a hard line around his eyes. He knew something.

Rose bit her lip. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him, and she was just about to ask one when a man her age entered the kitchen. He was tall and dark, and his wavy hair needed a trim. He wore round wire-rimmed glassed. “Hi Estelle,” he said, and then, sounding a little exasperated, “Jack. We need to get to work... Fern has just called to–” He interrupted himself when he noticed Rose.

“Adam,” Jack said, grinning, “meet Rose Tyler.”

Adam gave her a hard look, frowned, then returned his attention to Jack. Rose shivered a little and wrapped her arms around herself. “Come on, the sooner we've checked the place the better. There's serious work to be done.”

Jack, who had been looking at Rose, nodded, as if shaking himself out of some serious thoughts. He straightened a little. “Yeah, right. Gotta go. Estelle?” He reached out for Estelle and, with his hand at the small of her back, guided her outside.

Rose stood, rooted to the spot. Part of her screamed for him to stay. He was the only person she knew – well, whose twin she knew, and she had to find out if this universe's Jack Harkness was anything like her Jack. If he was a time traveller, if he worked for Torchwood. She had to find out. He might be the only one who could help her find her way back.

Torchwood had turned her away, and they would do so again when she called, keeping up the pretence that the office was just a travel agent. Maybe, if she could find out if Jack worked for the Institute, providing the receptionist with another name to go with her enquiries after Henrietta Morton, they'd be more likely to listen to her. She'd have to try again and again, put that Tyler stubbornness to good use.

She moved back to the kitchen window overlooking the drive. Jack was kissing Estelle good-bye. Adam removed a suitcase from the back seat of the car. It wasn't quite flashy, but neither did it look innocuous. Of course she hadn't seen any other cars, there were just too few in 1938, but something told her that this car was different. Just like the black SUVs had been before Pete had had most them replaced with cars that didn't look so out of place in the city. They still had their trusty SUVs for their field missions. After he'd given Estelle a wave, Adam marched off towards the street, Jack following him, flapping coat tails in his wake.

“Do you know Jack?” Estelle asked, closing the door behind her.

Rose rubbed her upper arm before letting her hands drop by her sides. She had to tread carefully. She didn't want to upset the only acquaintance she had. “I thought I did, at first. He's the spitting image of a man I met... far away. Very far away. It's been a long time.”

Estelle nodded.

Hopefully, Rose thought, she hadn't seen that flash of recognition in his eyes. Rose was very sure now that Jack had seen something that was familiar to him when he'd looked at her. He hadn't recognised her, but there was something about her that had evoked that reaction, and she needed to find out.

Anything to get back home, to the Doctor. He'd be worried sick about her.

Her heart clenched as she thought of him, how he'd come back from getting lunch and find her room empty. He still hadn't gotten over his fear of her leaving him, and this... would... she didn't dare pursue the idea further. She could feel her eyes fill up.

“Now, Rose!” Estelle said softly, closing the distance between them and taking her hand. “We'll find a way to help you. Jack always does.”

Rose set her jaw and swallowed. Then she met Estelle's warm gaze. “Yeah.”

“He'd like to get to know you. Would you like to stay for tea? I can't promise he'll actually make it in time. His job doesn't really allow for regular hours,” Estelle said.

Rose blinked. “Tea?”

“If... if that's all right. I mean... I understand if you'd like to go back,” Estelle stammered, clearly disappointed. She seemed like she'd warmed to the thought of having her here as a guest. When Rose met her eyes, she saw the loneliness shine in them.

She smiled, giving Estelle's hand a squeeze. “I don't have anywhere to go, really. I am very lost. More than you can imagine.”

“Splendid!” Estelle beamed.

-:-

Estelle had offered Rose a bath after they'd had a light lunch. She hadn't failed to notice that Rose had obviously been working, and Rose had told her with a wistful smile that she had been painting a room in her new house. It was hard for Rose not to mention that the new house was actually the one across the street. Just then, Jack and Adam returned, and Estelle waved in the general direction of the drive when the engine revved and the gravel crunched beneath the tyres as the car pulled out into the street.

Rose wondered briefly where Jack and Adam had gone, and for what purpose. She'd tried to wrest some of that information out of Estelle, but she'd given up on that when Estelle hadn't caught on – either out of genuine ignorance, or training.

“Why are you wearing a men's vest, anyway?” Estelle asked, genuinely puzzled as she showed Rose to the bathroom. “And these... sorry, I'm being rude again.”

“Jeans?” Rose asked, plucking at the denim on her thigh. “They're good for that sort of job. Durable, and you can wash them quite easily. And comfortable.”

“I don't wear trousers very often,” Estelle confessed. “Mainly in winter, when it's very cold.”

She handed Rose a couple of towels. As she stepped away, to leave Rose, she turned to say over her shoulder, “I don't want to seem rude, really, but I don't think you can put your clothes back on. I'll find something for you.”

And with that she left, leaving Rose in the strange bathroom, with a bar of soap clutched in one hand, and the towels in the other.

Rose shook her head as if to free it from the cobwebs that seemed to have suddenly been spun around her thoughts. She needed to think, and a shower just wouldn't do. She ran herself a bath. As she settled in the warm water her thoughts returned to the Doctor. He'd be beside himself with worry, and self-doubt as well. Unless, of course, she mused, wetting the soap and beginning to work up a lather across her skin, Pete told him about the letters.

The bar of soap slipped from between her fingers and fell into the water with a splash, skidding around the enamel of the tub until it came to rest somewhere between her knees. If they thought that stalker had finally gotten to her and abducted her they would be looking in the wrong place. She could just hope that her disappearance had left behind some kind of trace. A trace someone would eventually pick up on. If it lasted that long. Some energy signatures were extremely volatile.

What was it that had happened to her anyway? One moment she'd been painting the wall next to the mantel, wondering at a crackling in the air, something tickling the fine hairs in the nape of her neck. The next moment she'd felt as if she'd stayed under water too long and was more than ready to surface and gasp for air. Darkness had enveloped her, and with a thump on her bum, she'd resurfaced, outside the Willows, in the street on a glorious day in the May of 1938.

She really needed to find someone from Torchwood to talk to.

Rose let go and submerged herself in the tepid water.


	8. Chapter 8

Exhausted by the restless night and his tears, the Doctor had fallen asleep curled up on the floor in front of the sofa where he landed when he rolled off, his limbs still tangled in the blankets. When he woke roughly an hour later, he felt marginally better; Rose was gone, kidnapped by some lunatic right from their own house. He wondered how that was possible. The fact that she had dropped the paint roller on the newly sanded floor suggested that she had not invited her kidnapper in. She didn't know him. He must have sneaked up on her, must have come in through one of the open doors. He cursed himself for not locking the back door when he'd left to fetch their lunch.

The Willows wasn't the safe place he'd imagined it to be.

Their home wasn't safe.

The thought made him gag and he hurried to the bathroom, but nothing happened. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday's breakfast. The mere thought of food made his stomach turn. A shower, he thought, was the most likely thing to offer him some comfort, and maybe it would help him think more clearly too. Tearing off his pyjamas, he stepped under the quickly warming spray.

Rose had been abducted right out of their own house. She had lived in fear of that happening to her some time, and hadn't told him about it. It explained her breakdown, and her baffling behaviour of late. Why hadn't she confided in him? Why had she wanted to be left alone with that fear?

The realisation that Rose likely wouldn't come back quickly, might not even come back at all, forced the air out of his lungs, and without a respiratory bypass to kick in, he felt dizzy for a couple of moments. He had to support himself with his forearms braced against the cold tiles of the shower wall. The water was pelting down on him, attacking the knots in his shoulders that had formed as he'd slept on the sofa. Eventually, he managed to draw in a deep, steadying breath, using it to help him straighten up and tip his head back so the water could wash over his face. The sharp pinpricks brought him back to his senses. He was bursting with questions.

Once he had found, and put on, a shirt and a pair of clean trousers in the unfamiliar walk-in closet he called the Tyler Mansion. His heart was still pounding, or pounding again, he couldn't tell and didn't really care, as he waited for someone to pick up the phone.

“Hi, Doctor!”

He closed his eyes as Tony's cheerful voice echoed in his ear. He forced a smile into his voice. “Hello, Tony. How are you this fine morning?”

“Great! Mum's made me pancakes. For breakfast!” he cried excitedly. Jackie liked making breakfast for her family, but she rarely did so during the week. She must be very upset.

“Oh, yum. Is she there?”

“Yeah,” the boy replied a bit dejectedly. The Doctor could tell that Tony wanted to tell him something even more exciting, and he made a mental note to make it up to him later, when he felt a bit more like himself. Whenever that might be. He could hear Tony yelling for Jackie.

“I told you not to pick up the phone today,” she admonished him as she accepted the phone.

“But it said the Doctor on the little screen, and you said I can answer the phone when it says the Doctor,” Tony protested.

Jackie sighed, and the Doctor imagined her running her fingers through her son's hair. Tony had a point there. Little did he know how potentially important the phone could be to his mum that day.

“Doctor?”

“Hi Jackie.”

“How are you?”

“I'm all right.”

“Thought so,” she replied with a sigh. “I'm not any better myself.”

“Jackie, I was wondering about yesterday's offer,” he began.

“You want to stay with us?” Jackie's voice was hopeful.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “If that's not any bother...”

Jackie scoffed. “Since when do you – I'm sorry. I'd be happy to have you over. Tony is staying in today. I don't want to... we thought it'd be a good idea.”

“Yeah. A bit of Tony-time will do me good.” He could hear Tony whoop with joy in the background. He smiled.

As he stepped through the back door of the Tyler Mansion, Tony launched himself into the Doctor's arms, knocking the wind out of him. The boy had heard – and probably seen – him pull into the gravel parking lot next to the building. The Doctor swept Tony up and held him tight as the boy wrapped his legs around his waist. He dropped a kiss somewhere onto Tony's hair. Never before had Tony given him such an enthusiastic welcome, and the Doctor wondered briefly if Tony had sensed something. He shared his cleverness and his empathy with his sister.

Jackie held him just as tightly after he'd put Tony back on his feet, and for a moment he wondered why they turned to him for comfort. He'd never been any good at offering comfort; he had always fared best with moving on. Running away. Had he changed so much in this past year, and with bits of Donna in him? Donna would know what to do. Donna and Rose both.

“It's so good you're here,” Jackie said softly, and when she pulled back she gave him a look that let him know that she never meant to say that aloud. He smiled at her. “Would you like to stay in your and Rose's suite, or shall we make up one of the spare bedrooms?”

“The suite is fine,” he said. At least I'll have a white wall there, he added silently. “Have you heard anything from Pete? Or Younis?”

Jackie shook her head.

“Doctor, are you coming?” Tony asked. He'd raced ahead up the stairs, but when the Doctor failed to follow him, he skipped down the stairs to see what was keeping him.

“Go and play,” Jackie said. There's nothing we can do but wait, her expression said. He studied the white caps of his trainers, setting his jaw. He wasn't sure how long he would be able to be patient and wait.

“Doctor!” Tony insisted.

“Yeah, coming. Gotta take off my trainers first,” he said, sniffing and turning to look at Tony, who was bouncing excitedly on the stairs. “Why don't you get my bag and put it in our room?”

Tony struggled a bit with the carry-all, but in his determination to please him he managed to lug the bag upstairs. Halfway down the hall to their suite, the Doctor caught up with him and took one handle to help the boy. He held his breath as they stepped into the white room Rose had inhabited after she'd first arrived in this universe. She'd told him that she found the starkness of the room comforting, and hope-inspiring. However, it had never really been her home, and they'd only ever stayed in here as guests. Memories, although some of them beautiful, like those of the previous Christmas, their first Christmas, seemed to be that much more bearable in here.

“Thank you,” the Doctor said as he put down the bag on the bench at the foot of the bed. “Now, what do you want to do?”

“Can we build Captain Brannigan's shuttle?”

The Doctor paused for a moment. That story had never been his favourite, but it was one of the more suitable ones – suitable, at least, without too much editing or applying creative license. “With your Legos?”

Tony gave him a patient look. “Yeah,” he said, his tone carrying a kind of impatience reserved for slow boys.

“What about the space station? Won't we have to take that apart to get all the bricks we need?” the Doctor asked. The last time he'd visited, the space station had been Tony's favourite playground, and the setting of many adventures they made up as they went playing.

“I can't think of any more stories,” Tony said so matter-of-factly that it belied his earlier enthusiasm about the space station.

In Tony's room, they started to take the station apart, the Doctor and he sitting cross-legged on the soft midnight-blue carpet. They worked in silence, as they always did, but the Doctor found it hard to focus his thoughts on the new project. He'd hoped that playing with Tony would distract him a little from the terrible images his mind kept conjuring up, of Rose in all manner of humiliating and painful situations, most of the time tied up, trying to reason with her kidnapper. Once again he was mystified by the lack of traces of a fight. How had her kidnapper done that? Rose always put up a fight. Had she been... shot?

He felt dizzy and unable to breathe.

“Doctor?” Tony's voice was very soft, almost inaudible against the white noise that filled his head.

When the Doctor managed to look up, it was because Tony had put his small hand on his shoulder, kneeling next to him. The worry in the boy's face broke his heart. He must pull himself together. Falling apart like this would only make things worse, particularly since Tony seemed to have sensed that Something Terrible was going on. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor squeaked, not a little embarrassed. “I haven't had breakfast, so I'm a bit peckish. What about you? Shall we go downstairs and see what's for lunch?”

“Okay.” Tony didn't seem to be entirely convinced by his white lie.

The Doctor climbed to his feet, careful not to step on any of the bricks outlining the space he'd occupied on the floor. It had happened to him once, the sharp edge of a brick cutting right through the sock and into his big toe. It had hurt like hell, and it had only dissipated when Rose had cleaned and sucked on it in the bathroom, before patching the cut up with one of Tony's children's plasters.

“When is Rose coming back?” Tony asked when they were halfway down the stairs.

“I don't know, Tony,” the Doctor replied truthfully. He was grateful that he didn't have to lie to her brother about that. Tony just nodded, for once accepting his answer without asking any more questions.

-:-

Pete joined them for lunch. Once Tony had left the table to go and play, they were finally free to discuss what was foremost on their minds. He seemed just as worried as everyone else at the lack of a call from Rose's kidnapper, but he also offered Younis' thoughts on that matter. Now that the stalker had what he wanted, the object of his desires, he wasn't likely to give her up for money. Pete agreed when the Doctor said would have preferred this to be a garden-variety kidnapping. In that case, at least, the prospect of getting Rose back soon was much better. That, and the fact that his subconscious wouldn't be tormenting him with all kinds of disgusting things that person might inflict upon Rose in a misguided attempt to show her his admiration.

“Have they made any progress in their search for the stalker?” the Doctor asked. He hadn't eaten much, but he found comfort in his tea, which was very milky and very sweet that day.

“A little, yes,” Pete said. “It's not a breakthrough, but Hari thinks it looks promising.”

The Doctor pondered that. He wanted to believe it, but for all he knew it could just be Younis buying time. “What of forensics?”

“Results haven't come back yet,” Pete said, sighing. It was quite obvious that his patience was wearing thin.

“Can't Torchwood do something?” Jackie suggested. She'd been quiet all that time, nursing her tea, dwelling on the warm steam curling up from her mug and letting the aroma wash over her and clear her thoughts.

“I–” Pete began. “I didn't want to interfere.”

Jackie snorted.

“And it's Rose's place. And yours, of course,” he amended, looking at the Doctor. “I didn't want to intrude.”

“Rose was kidnapped right out of our house. How much more intrusive can you get?” the Doctor said slowly, softly, in attempt to stay calm. He looked at Pete. “I'll give you the keys. Send in a team. Our equipment is a bit more sophisticated than theirs.”

“Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Doctor,” Pete replied, exhaling, sipping at his tea. “But you're right. We can't sit here, doing nothing.”

The crackling of tension was gone once Pete had made the decision. Since when had Torchwood been afraid of conducting their own inquiries?

“Thank you,” Jackie whispered, stood, and left the small dining room.

“I–” Pete began.

“Yeah,” the Doctor said. “I'm the same.”

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their tea.

“Do you think,” the Doctor began eventually, “that there were no signs of struggle because she was... shot?” He raised his eyes to meet Pete's. They were so much like Rose's.

The older man had gone pale. “There... there wasn't any blood, was there? I mean... I didn't see any when I went up there with Hari.”

“But you think it's possible?”

“Maybe not with a gun,” Pete conceded. “Maybe something like a blowpipe, to knock her out. The stalker wouldn't want to kill her.”

“But he... it could be quite possible that he'd want to care for her? If she got hurt? I've read about that.”

Pete pressed the back of his left hand against his mouth to fight down the nausea that welled up in him at that thought. “We definitely ought to get a team in.”

-:-

When Pete returned from Torchwood in the evening, he had sent a team into the Willows to repeat what the Met's forensics people had done. But even Torchwood, with their advanced equipment, needed time to produce results.

“I've assigned Sophie Doyle to the case,” Pete told the Doctor as they were sitting in the family room. Jackie was giving Tony his bath so the two men could talk. The Doctor, she and Tony had spent the afternoon outside, walking and playing, until finally Tony's energy had been exhausted. The exercise had done the adults good as well, as they'd had a chance to work off some of their own nervous energy. At one point, Jackie had picked up a big branch and had hurled it into one of the ponds in the grounds behind the Mansion, crying out in frustration. After that, she'd felt better. She'd looked a bit better.

“Is she... will she be able to be calm enough?” the Doctor asked. Sophie Doyle was Lucas' wife.

“She's the best for the case.”

“I wish...” the Doctor began but stopped himself. He wished Pete wouldn't call Rose the case. But he understood that this touch of professionalism would help Rose more than falling apart over it. He knew he wouldn't be able to reach that level of detachment any time soon.

“Can I read the letters?” the Doctor asked.

Pete hesitated, but eventually he got up to fetch the folder with copies of the letters Rose had received. The Doctor put the folder on his knees, but didn't open it for a while.

“Don't read them if you're not sure you want to know what they say,” Pete said.

The Doctor looked up from the green folder. “I want to know what kind of person destroyed our life,” he said evenly, in an attempt to keep both the Oncoming Storm and the despair at bay.

Pete looked dejected at his words, but he nodded as he acknowledged the implications of Rose's abduction. The violation of privacy she and the Doctor had suffered in their own home was so grave that he wondered how the Doctor had been able to stay there for the night.

“I'll be upstairs with Jackie and Tony if you need me.”

The Doctor nodded, then opened the folder as the door clicked shut behind Pete, and began to read.

-:-

Younis called while he was reading the letters. Once the Doctor had started, there was no stopping – they had that much power over him, and for that he hated their author. They offered him insight into a sick person's mind – a man's most likely – and he felt disgusted by how their repulsiveness kept him reading. Without doubt, the coming night's dreams weren't going to be any better than the previous, fuelled as they would doubtless be by what he'd read in the letters.

Why had Rose not confided in him, he wondered, again. Why had she felt she needed to go through this on her own? True, Pete knew, but the Doctor knew that the comfort of a lover's arms could help in times like this.

The news from Younis was that there wasn't anything new, apart from the fact that forensics couldn't offer anything conclusive. Apparently, there were no signs that anything untoward had happened. Both the Doctor and Pete were glad that Torchwood was working on the case as well.

The evening was a quiet one when Pete and Jackie returned to the family room, and once they'd all retired for the evening, the Doctor spent a long time lying in the darkness. Sleep was elusive, but for once he was glad. He was afraid of sleeping, certain that his dreams would be filled with more elaborate images of Rose in the clutches of that madman.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

“Join me outside for a cuppa?” Jack asked when they had finished supper. He snatched three of the cupcakes Rose had made that afternoon and gestured for her to pick up their mugs of tea. He kissed Estelle on the cheek, telling her he was sorry he wasn't helping with the dishes. Estelle nodded, her smile a little sad but understanding as well. She had been glad to leave Rose with the baking that afternoon, as she herself hated it, and Rose had reassured her several times that it would help her relax.

Rose smoothed down the skirt Estelle had given her. It was a bit more snug than she'd expected; Estelle's figure was boyish, and the silk scarf Rose was wearing covered up the fact that the cream-coloured blouse was even tighter. They'd giggled a bit about it, agreeing that she only needed it for a short while.

There was a bench at the bottom of the garden, that was bathed in the golden sunlight of the late afternoon. Rose closed her eyes as she sat down next to Jack, setting the mugs in the space between them.

“You're from the early 21st century, aren't you,” Jack eventually began, taking a bite of the cupcake. “Mm, this is delicious. I'm certainly glad you ended up here.”

Rose looked up. “Me too.” She studied her fingers for a while. “You recognised my clothes,” she said.

“They were kinda hard to ignore,” Jack chuckled, catching a crumb of cupcake with his fingers to push it between his lips.

“But you didn't recognise me,” Rose couldn't help adding. She didn't know why she said it. Rationally, she knew that Jack wouldn't have recognised her. Couldn't have, because they'd never met in this universe. She tried hard not to feel disappointed by the fact that Jack didn't know her. Jack – her Jack – would know exactly what to do to cheer her up. This Jack was... different. It had certainly been a surprise to see him lead such a comparatively domestic life.

“Most women would have slapped me for that by now,” Jack chuckled, rubbing his cheek. “And quite a few blokes too. But you seem... genuinely dejected.”

Rose laughed. “You couldn't possibly recognise me, Jack.”

“Still, you recognised me,” Jack said. “And I have a feeling that you know... me... quite intimately.”

“Not that intimately,” she corrected, mock-affronted. “But we were good friends.”

“So tell me.”

Rose handed him his mug. “It's a long story. Better be prepared.” She gave him the short version, trusting him with her whole mad story. Although she knew nothing about this Jack, he seemed to be like the one she knew, and she'd always trusted him. She didn't tell him about the events on the Game Station. That was something with which she still hadn't come to terms, and she'd never talked about it with the Doctor.

“That's what I call lost,” he said, his words sounding hollow as he breathed into his empty mug to drain it of its last dregs. “Your story gives mine a run for its money.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“You're lost too?” she asked, and when he nodded, she threw her head back and laughed out loud. “Talk about the blind leading the blind.”

“My... Vortex Manipulator is broken. I've been looking for a way of fixing it.”

“I know just the man who could help you with it,” Rose said, grinning, pushing her tongue between her teeth. “He lives just some seventy years away from here. Across the street, actually,” she added softly, glancing thoughtfully into her empty mug.

“You what?” Jack asked, baffled.

Rose met his eyes. The familiarity of their deep blue was almost a shock; she hadn't remembered his eyes to be so expressive. Or was it just that it had been a long time since she'd seen him last? How long until her memories of the Doctor's eyes were going to fade? She shook her head to clear it of that painful thought. She had never quite forgotten the colour of the Doctor's eyes while they'd been apart. But there had been the odd moment when she hadn't been able to remember the little things about him, and she felt ashamed about that. “Are you working for Torchwood, Jack? You and Adam?”

“What gave me away?”

“The car,” Rose chuckled, and he joined in. “Torchwood never really gets over their flashy cars. It's a boys' club, mostly. A tinkerers' club.”

“But I bet they've saved your pretty behind quite a few times,” Jack said, holding out a cupcake for her. After she'd accepted it, he sobered, folding up the wrapper that had held his cake. “You live in the house across the street? At number 23?”

Rose, who was peeling the paper off her cake, nodded. “We'd just moved in when... when... I don't really know what happened.” She dropped her hands to her lap, the cupcake forgotten. “I was painting – obviously – when suddenly there was a crackling in the air, and the next thing I knew I was outside Claire's place, on my bum.”

“Who's Claire?” he asked, furrowing his brow.

“Oh, she's the lady who lives here, at this place, in my time. She hasn't even been born yet,” Rose added as she recalled the year of her birth as it appeared in Tony's books.

“When Adam and I stopped by this morning, we were on our way to number 23, to check on some irregular energy signature,” Jack explained. “We, well, Nathan that is, couldn't make anything of the readings, so we thought we'd come and check. When was it again that you got... displaced?”

“Around lunchtime. The Doctor had just gone to pick up our lunch. There's a lovely café on Duke's Gate,” Rose said, interrupting herself. She was babbling, a habit she'd picked up from the Doctor, and she wasn't quite sure she liked it. Right then it offered her a bit of comfort. And it helped not to draw too much of her attention to the fact that her appearance had registered with whatever instruments or screening devices the Torchwood of 1938 had at their disposal.

Jack got up. “Fancy a ride in my flashy car?” He held out his hand gallantly to help her up. Rose smiled, taking it, and stood. Still she tried to keep her excitement and her hopes down, but Jack's enthusiasm had never failed to rub off on her.

“Thought you'd never ask,” Rose replied with a grin. He placed her hand in the crook of his arm, and they left.

-:-

Jack took her to Torchwood's headquarters of that time, St Pancras. It's perfect, Rose thought, as Jack turned a corner of the impressive red-brick station building. The Midland Grand Hotel hadn't closed down completely, as it had in Pete's World, so Torchwood had found a new home in the abandoned part of the hotel. It masqueraded as a travel agents, but deep in its bowels, in disused construction tunnels for the Underground, Torchwood could hide their secrets.

Jack pulled through an innocuous gate and into the courtyard that was theirs to use. The courtyard was plain and designed for work. Still, it was nicely decorated, the brick darkened by smoke. Jack guided her to the entrance, and into the brightly lit hall that used to house the hotel's fleet of vehicles and garage. Rose smiled. Trust Torchwood not to do with the usual office set-up.

“Nathan!” Jack called out, his voice echoing in the vast hall. Parts of it were sectioned off, and some of them were used to store crates and shapeless tarpaulin-covered... things. Rose looked around, but there was no sign anyone was there.

Jack called for Nathan again, and this time, there was a distant-sounding reply. “This way,” Jack said, gesturing her to precede him. When they reached a door at the back of the hall, Jack held it open for her and she went through. “Turn right,” he said as she stepped into the hallway. She entered the office that was cluttered with radio-equipment and instruments that looked like early television sets cross-bred with all manner of odd-looking machinery. A soft hum filled the air, interrupted by the occasional staticky crackle and beeps.

“Nathan, meet Rose Tyler,” Jack said.

It was only then that Rose noticed the man lying beneath one of the desks, his feet close to getting tangled in the mess of wires surrounding him. His response was muffled, telling them to wait. There was a hissing sound, a pop and a brief cry of Nathan's, which was followed by a triumphant “Ha!” When Nathan finally scrambled to his feet, Jack gave him a hand, and Rose was surprised that Nathan was old enough to be her grandfather.

Nathan wiped his hand on his baggy trousers and extended his hand to her. “My pleasure, Rose Tyler,” he said, winking at her. He put on his glasses, and his smile widened. “That's better. Oh, hello! Why didn't you tell me she was beautiful, Jack?”

“Because I knew you didn't want the distraction,” Jack replied. “Rose might be the answer to this morning's energy spike in number 23.”

Nathan's smile was replaced by an expression of astonishment. “How'd you find her? Sorry, m'dear, we're talking as if you weren't here. It's just we aren't used to... lovely ladies turning up on our doorstep. It's usually someone from a bit further away. Or are you... from further away?” He gestured for her to sit in the chair he'd pushed away from the desk.

“I'm... depends. But I'm human, if that's what you mean,” Rose said, a bit overwhelmed by Nathan's warm welcome.

“Yeah, we can talk about that later,” Jack interrupted them. “Tell me Rose and the energy spike are linked.”

“Rose and the energy spike are linked,” Nathan said. He reached up to tap Jack on the forehead. “Use your brain, Jack. Energy spike, lovely lady turns up, chances are they are connected.” He huffed, shaking his head. “Now, let's see.”

While Nathan rummaged in his notes, Jack provided her with another cup of tea. “I know a bit about time travel,” Rose offered, “So maybe I could help?”

Nathan paused in what he was doing and gave her a sharp glance. “Are you like him?” he asked, jerking his head in Jack's direction.

“I haven't got a Vortex Manipulator, if that's what you mean. I was displaced in time,” Rose explained. “But I have travelled in time before... voluntarily, so there might just be a trace of Chronon particles left from those days.”

Nathan nodded, appreciating what she'd just told him. “Maybe Adam should take a look at you too.”

Rose nodded. Adam had given her the cold treatment that morning, and she wasn't quite sure what to expect.

“Don't worry, he won't bite,” Nathan said good-naturedly. “He's just... Adam.”

“Bit too paranoid for his own good sometimes,” Jack nodded with a knowing smile.

“Perfect Torchwood material then,” Rose said before she could stop herself.

“Are you with... is there a Torchwood where you come from? Or should I say when?” Nathan asked.

“When, but I'm afraid I can't tell you much about it. Torchwood rules, and I tend to stick to them,” Rose said.

“Fair enough,” the old man said. “Good to know that we're still around in... how long was it?”

“Seventy-two years,” Rose offered.

“Blimey.” Nathan adjusted his specs, then set to work.

-:-

Estelle had made up one of the spare bedrooms for her, and Rose managed to remain calm until she closed the door behind her. Estelle had laid out a nightgown and towels for her on the bed, and it was that small gesture that broke Rose's heart. She collapsed onto the soft bed, clutching the the white cotton to her as tears began to stream down her cheeks.

Adam had been slightly more friendly, but despite their best efforts neither he nor Nathan could find anything. No trace at all of what it was that had displaced her. At least they had found out that it hadn't been some form of teleport with temporal extras; which excluded a Vortex Manipulator, and for a moment she'd thought Jack had looked just as crushed by the news as she felt she did.

The journey back to Florence Gardens was a silent one, and Rose had pressed the knuckles of her left hand to her mouth to keep the tears at bay. But now that she was alone, and with the window of her room facing the Willows, she couldn't take it any more. This was almost as bad as the White Wall.

She yawned widely, her tears having left her exhausted. She undressed and washed her knickers in the sink so she'd have clean ones to wear the next day, then she slipped on the nightgown Estelle had loaned her. It was a bit more loose-fitting than the other clothes she'd given her, and it smelled faintly of soap and lavender.

The Doctor occupied her thoughts before she went to sleep, wondering how he was, just how devastated he must be, and Mum and Pete and Tony. How long would it take them to realise that she hadn't fallen prey to her stalker? The Doctor. Images of the little boy lost she'd found in rehab came to her mind, how different he had been – was he like this now? At least he had her family to take care of him, and maybe even Donna.

The Doctor filled her dreams, standing across the street, reaching out for her, both of them paralysed, unable to move or talk even. All she could see was the sadness in his huge brown eyes. Eventually, he dropped his hand, turned, and moved, tailcoats flapping behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

As the driver deftly negotiated his way through the London morning traffic the Doctor thought he was going to be sick, which was unnerving as well as a bit ridiculous. He'd never before suffered from motion sickness, not once throughout the centuries he'd spent hurtling through time and space in a small box had he even felt the slightest bit queasy. He set his jaw and stared out the window, watching the people hurry to work. It was just an ordinary day for them, and the tinted panes of the rear seat made him feel even more removed from normal life than he already was.

Pete was sitting next to him, shrouded in silence. They hadn't spoken a word since they'd got in the car at the Mansion. Younis had called during breakfast with news on the investigation. They had found Rose's stalker. The DI hadn't offered any more information, and neither Pete nor the Doctor liked it.

“How am I going to tell Jacks?” Pete wondered, dropping his hand to his lap as he turned his head to look at the Doctor.

“Please don't,” the Doctor said softly.

Pete sighed. “We have to–” he began, but the Doctor interrupted him.

“I know, Pete,” he said, still calm, but he could feel anger bubbling inside him. “But not... not until we know for sure.”

Pete's eyes softened a bit. “Yeah, I guess you're right.” He propped his chin on his hand again and gazed out of his window.

The Doctor stared at his hands where they lay folded in his lap. The car jerked to a halt behind another that had suddenly performed an illegal manoeuvre, sending the Doctor's stomach lurching and he bent forward to keep the nausea at bay. Pete put his hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“The road's blocked, sir,” the driver said, half-turned in his seat. He'd been talking quietly into his headset, exchanging traffic information with other drivers. “Some sort of accident. I'm afraid this is as far as we can get.”

Pete withdrew his hand. “Right, we'll get out here. Thank you.”

The Doctor was glad to be able to get out of the car. He stretched and breathed deeply as he stepped onto the pavement. It took them fifteen minutes to walk to the Met. The walk did him good, and he felt ready to face Younis and his news. Younis had told them to use a particular entrance so they'd find their way to his office more easily. He held the door open to let Pete precede him into the building.

Younis met them at the elevator, and he took them to one of the conference rooms that had been set up as the centre of investigations for the case. He gestured for them to sit at the table occupying one corner of the room, and a minute later two mugs of tea appeared in front of them. The Doctor wrapped his hands around the mug. The feel of the porcelain and the smell were comforting, but he didn't sip from it. He didn't trust himself to keep anything down.

“We've found the stalker,” Younis said without preamble. “He was in an accident very early this morning. They're currently treating him at the hospital.”

The Doctor's mouth went dry. He sensed that there was more to come, and he simply couldn't take the tension any more. “What about Rose?” His voice, when he asked the question, was oddly composed. He knew the answer.

Younis looked at his hands. “There was someone in the car with him, but... I'm afraid we'll have to wait for forensics to confirm the person's identity.”

The Doctor put down his mug with exaggerated care and stood. Gone were the nausea and the tension. There was nothing left inside him, nothing but a vast emptiness. He was shaking all over. He stepped towards the window to try to cover and as he looked outside, he noticed the small patch of sky above the courtyard. A single tree grew there, somehow able to survive in the shadow of the buildings surrounding it. He pressed his hand against the cool windowpane.

“How long do you think that will take?” Pete asked eventually, his voice sounding hollow.

“Tomorrow morning,” Younis said. “They set to work straight away, and they promised to have it ready by tomorrow morning.” Torchwood wouldn't be any quicker, particularly not since they didn't have a sample of the victim. “We'd need a sample of Rose's DNA. Some hairs from her hairbrush will do nicely,” Younis added softly.

“I happen to have a chart of her genetic make-up,” Pete said. “I'll have my PA send it to you.” Younis nodded in surprise, then he scribbled down an email address for Pete, who called his PA.

“What about the stalker?” the Doctor asked, turning away from the window. “Can't he tell you who was with him in the car?”

The DI turned around in his chair to look at him. “I'm afraid so. He's suffered serious burns.”

“The accident on the M1 then?” the Doctor asked. He'd been listening to the radio in the kitchen, and there had been a brief report on it to explain the traffic jam.

Younis nodded.

“How long have you known that it was her stalker?” Pete asked. Having typed the message for his PA at Torchwood, he slipped his phone back into the pocket of his suit trousers.

“Since one o'clock this morning,” Younis explained. “He'd already left his flat when we got there, and there was no trace of him until the number plate was radioed in after the accident.”

Turning to join the two men at the table, the Doctor spotted some photos of the stalker's flat pinned up on the wall. He slipped on his glasses and stepped closer to examine them. The stalker had erected a veritable shrine to Rose, with clippings and photos tacked around it. Some of the pictures were photoshopped; they made the Doctor blush, then feel faint. The pictures were revolting, but still he couldn't stop himself from looking at them. The stalker had collected all kinds of things about Rose, had put up a bed in the room, a hospital bed with... with straps to...

The Doctor gagged, firmly clamping a hand over his mouth. Even as he squeezed his eyes shut, the images wouldn't leave him, and he bent over, feeling the bile rise within him. He didn't realise what was happening until he was made to sit in a chair that had been drawn up for him, and hands on his back and shoulder made him bend over to get his head between his knees.

The nausea slowly faded, but he still found it difficult to breathe.

-:-

On their way back to the Mansion, the Doctor asked the driver to stop at Hamley's. When Pete raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him, the Doctor merely told him that he and Tony wanted to build something and they'd realised that they lacked some parts they absolutely needed.

“One would think he's already got all the bricks there are,” Pete commented as the Doctor got into the car with several boxes of varying sizes full of Lego half an hour later. “Doctor, you don't need to do this. Babysitting Tony.”

“I want to. It's the only thing I can do to help,” the Doctor replied, buckling in. The driver pulled smoothly out into the Regent Street traffic.

“What about your house?” Pete asked.

The Doctor looked at him. “Not much point in working there now, is there.”

“You've given up?” the older man's voice was almost tuneless. The Doctor was surprised. He certainly hadn't expected Pete to say this. Not after their earlier discussion.

He wanted to say, “No.” He'd never give up. Rose had taught him that, particularly when the word impossible was included in a description of the situation. He so wanted her proven right again, but one had to admit that this time there was really little hope. He ducked his head, his fingers splayed on the boxes stacked on his lap. “I don't want to, really, I don't,” he said. Then he looked up. “It's more like... I don't know.”

“Preparing for the worst,” Pete said, meeting his gaze levelly. “But still hoping for the best.”

“Yeah. Speaking of which, is there any news from Torchwood?”

When Pete shook his head, the Doctor first thought there wasn't any at all, but then Pete told him that Torchwood's search had been inconclusive regarding alien or rift activity. It looked like Torchwood and the Met both had done everything in their power.

-:-

There was a hardness and composure to Jackie that surprised and scared the Doctor. A part of her had just died. He'd seen her losing someone before, because of him, and he hung his head in shame. She was very calm when Pete told her what had happened at the Met.

“Another night it is then?” she asked eventually, squaring her shoulders. Another night of hope and uncertainty.

“I'm afraid so,” Pete said, brushing his thumbs over the backs of her fingers.

The phone rang in the early afternoon, while the Doctor and Tony were trying out the new bricks, discussing the best way to recreate Brannigan's shuttle. The Doctor had sketched it to give Tony an idea of what they were looking for. The boy was so lost in his activity that the Doctor nipped down briefly to ask what the phone call had been about. Jackie had been guarding it ever since Tony had answered it the previous day.

“The stalker is dead,” she said flatly.

Oddly, he felt nothing. All the revulsion and hatred were gone. The letters had given him a fair idea of what went on in the man's mind, and the photos he'd seen in the conference room – photos neither he nor Pete were meant to see – had redoubled the horror of it all. If he'd done only a fraction of the things he had described in great detail in his letters... there were no words to explain how the Doctor felt about the man who had done that to Rose; had humiliated and hurt her, and probably even broken her. Maybe, he thought in one tiny little dark corner of his mind, it would even be better if Rose didn't have to go through all this.

He nodded, then drew Jackie into is arms and held her for a while.

Eventually, Jackie pushed him away. “You'd better get back upstairs. Tony'll be wondering where you are.”

“Yeah,” he said.

At dinner, they tried to act as normal as possible for Tony's sake, and somehow he even managed to force down some food. It tasted bland and had no texture, and he was glad when it was over. The Doctor tucked Tony in and joined Jackie and Pete in the family room where they sipped drinks and tried to watch TV. Nothing held their attention for long and eventually they gave up, sitting together in companionable silence till long past midnight when they decided they should probably get some sleep.

He didn't sleep. He lay on his side of the bed, following the elaborate swirls of the pattern of the cornice as it was illuminated by the moonlight. The house was quiet, but inside his head he was hearing the most awful sounds of Rose's ordeal. Not matter how hard he tried to shut them out, they kept returning, and when he dozed off for a minute or two they were accompanied by the memories of the photos he wasn't supposed to see. His vivid imagination filled in the rest.

When he managed to ban these thoughts, they were immediately replaced by thoughts of how Torchwood's search had produced nothing. He couldn't quite believe that they didn't find anything, no trace of her whatsoever. They had more or less confirmed the Met's findings. A quick search of the Torchwood database had told them that the stalker was perfectly human, with serious flaws.

When the hands on his watch had eventually crept to positions that told him it was acceptable to get up, he quickly showered to work out the kinks in his shoulders, finished his morning routine and went down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. When he entered the sunny room, Jackie was already there, getting a breakfast tray ready, and he helped her with the rest of the preparations.

“They won't call for at least three more hours,” the Doctor said as they settled on the sofa in the family room. It felt as though they'd never left the seats they'd occupied till the early hours of the morning. They stared out of the bay window at the ribbons of fog hovering above the damp grass. It was going to be another glorious day, and maybe, the Doctor thought, he and Tony could go for a walk later.

“Yeah,” Jackie said, carefully cupping her hot mug and blowing into the steam rising from its contents. “I hate waiting like this.”

“I'm sorry,” the Doctor said. He'd not really stopped to think how she must have felt about her daughter's long absences when they were travelling.

“It's the lack of news that kills you. And waiting for a call when you know she's in the field,” Jackie continued. “You know, we had agreed on a day and time that Rose would call while you were travelling. Most times her call came right on time.”

“I had no idea.”

“No, you wouldn't,” she said, but her tone was even, a simple statement of fact. “You captured her imagination, you did,” she continued, settling her mug on her thigh. “You showed her things... I was over the moon when we were able to spend a long weekend at the seaside.”

“I...” he began. “I don't know what to say.”

Jackie sighed. “I just wanted you to know, is all. I'm very glad she found you. You're very good for each other.”

He managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

“I... if... you're always welcome here, Doctor,” Jackie said. “I'd hate to lose you... over this.”

This time, the Doctor really had no idea what to say. He swallowed and nodded, his heart constricting. Jackie hadn't given up, she'd just had too much time to think, just like him, but the sentiment was honest, and his heart clenched. He'd never even dreamed of someone being so kind to him, and he had no idea how to react.

“Now, don't do that,” Jackie said, putting down her mug on the coffee table with a firm movement. She stood and handed him a box of tissues. He hadn't noticed the tear escaping from his eye, and he brushed it away viciously.

-:-

The call came early, startling them all. The Doctor and Tony were just getting ready to go outside, complete with a lesson in how to tie shoe laces, when the phone rang shrilly. Tony noticed the jolt that went through him, and he hoped he could get away with telling him he was just startled by the sound. The Doctor debated staying in, to finally end this awful waiting, but then he wanted to have a couple more hours of blissful ignorance, and he had Tony's disappointment to reckon with if he cancelled the trip outside. Also, he wanted to give Jackie and Pete some space.

He tugged at the boy's laces to make sure they were tight enough, then they left through the back door. Let them think, when they went in search of him to give him the news, that they'd already left when the call came.

When they returned from their walk, the Doctor opened the back door with a pounding heart, and he noticed that he was shivering, again. The hall off the kitchen was ripe with the smells of lunch cooking, and a new wave of nausea washed over him. Tony plopped down by his feet to tear his shoes off, and the Doctor leaned heavily against the closed door to take a deep breath. Tony was still chattering away about some new ideas he'd had for their Lego project, and how hungry he was and what he thought was for lunch.

The blood was rushing in the Doctor's ears, but he was brought back to the present when Tony took his hand. “What's wrong, Doctor?” the boy asked.

“I... I'm all right,” the Doctor lied, forcing a smile. “Go wash your hands, I'll be there in a minute to check.”

Strangely enough, Tony did as he was told without even pulling a face.

“Oh Tony,” the Doctor sighed, dropping his head back against the pane in the door. He took a deep breath, toed off his shoes and put them and Tony's away. As he straightened, he saw Pete leaning against the bannister. His expression was blank.

“It isn't Rose,” Pete said softly.

The Doctor blinked.

“The person travelling with the stalker,” Pete clarified. “It wasn't Rose.”

The Doctor closed his eyes and exhaled. The feeling of light-headedness was replaced by... nothing really. His heart was still pounding.

“It appears Rose jut disappeared,” Pete said.

“How can she just disappear?” he managed eventually. “How could Torchwood not find anything? How is that possible?”

Pete sighed. “There either wasn't anything to be found, or it's something new, something we don't know yet.”

“But how...” the Doctor began. How did you look for something without knowing what it was? You didn't, unless you were persistent and lucked into finding something that would eventually lead you to that Something. The Torchwood archives were full of cases like that. He ducked his head to study his stocking feet, the deep blue of his socks against the white and black tiles of the floor. He curled his toes and relaxed them.

“Sophie is still working on it,” Pete said.

The Doctor looked up. “Thank you.”

Pete nodded. He pushed himself off the bannister and revealed an envelope he had been holding behind his back. “I think... I think you should have this. Rose wanted me to give it to you if something happened to her. You can read it now, or later, or not at all.”

Pete's hand was trembling when the Doctor closed the distance between them to take the envelope. He recognised Rose's expensive, cream-coloured stationery, and suddenly he realised. She must have written the letter on the night of her breakdown. He glimpsed his name on the envelope, written in her beautiful hand with a proper fountain pen, the D considerably bigger than the rest of the letters, sweeping and elegantly curved. He dropped his hand to his side, unwilling to accept that this was it.

“What are you going to tell Tony?” the Doctor asked. “He asked me if we could ring Rose later.”


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Rose woke with tears streaming down her cheeks. The image of the Doctor leaving her was overwhelming. As she gradually woke, the tight feeling in her chest became stronger, and she realised that she'd dreamed of the Other as well – he was the Doctor that eventually turned round and walked away without another backwards glance. Emotions washed over her, and her breath hitched, forcing its way up in a strangled sob.

More memories of the previous day surfaced, and the loneliness was becoming unbearable. What was it that had separated them? Something must have taken her, and she couldn't quite believe that Torchwood had no idea what it was. Unless it was something they'd never encountered before.

Another sob escaped her, causing her to hiccup. She clamped her hand firmly over her mouth. She turned her head at the soft rapping on her door.

“Rose?” It was Estelle.

“I'm awake,” Rose said, dropping her hand away from her mouth, hoping her voice didn't sound too teary.

“Are you all right?”

No, I'm really not all right. “Yeah, thanks.”

“I'll be downstairs, making breakfast,” Estelle said.

“Be there in a minute,” Rose replied. Wiping her damp cheeks, she listened to Estelle's footsteps as she went down the hall and the staircase. All she wanted to do was curl up beneath the covers and cry and think, but staying in bed would have been rather rude, particularly in the face of such generosity.

Just as Estelle had promised, she had left one of Jack's shirts in the bathroom for Rose. The shirt, they had agreed, would be better than the tight blouse, and Rose could wear her jeans with it. Although Rose had learned to feel comfortable in most kinds of clothes, she was really grateful for the shirt. Wearing it would make her feel less displaced, less like a homeless person.

On her way downstairs she could hear someone in the toilet retching and coughing. The door to the small bathroom was open, and when she peered in she saw Estelle kneeling on the floor. “Hey,” Rose said.

Estelle turned around, pulling the lever, and looked up at Rose with a sheepish smile.

Rose returned the gesture, her smile widening as she spoke. “How long have you known?” she asked.

Estelle scrambled to her feet, and Rose reached out to offer a steadying hand when she swayed a bit. “A couple of days. I'm going to see the doctor this afternoon,” she said.

Rose's smile froze at her words.

“Rose?”

“Oh, it's... my boyfriend's nickname is the Doctor. He's... very clever, and... well, it just suits him. I never call him by his real name,” Rose stammered.

Estelle's smile vanished for a moment, but then she gave Rose's hand a squeeze. “Well, that's what nicknames are for. What's his real name?”

“John,” Rose said. She'd never be able to call him that, not when they weren't in public. It just didn't feel like him, although he'd chosen it for himself. Just another mask to hide behind.

“You'll get back to him, Rose. I'm sure of that,” Estelle said. “Now, I could kill for some toast and marmalade.”

“Does Jack know? About the baby?” Rose asked as they settled at the kitchen table. Jack had already left, some kind of emergency or other, after the ringing of the telephone had roused him from his sleep.

“No, I haven't... I wanted to be sure,” Estelle said. Then she shrugged, and added with another sheepish smile. “Maybe it's just an upset stomach.”

“And your... monthlies?”

Estelle blushed, then giggled. “Late.”

“Not an upset stomach then, I'd say,” Rose said, smiling. “That's wonderful.” She wondered what Jack would think about being a father. Were they even trying for a baby? Rose couldn't possibly ask her all these questions.

“I guess not,” Estelle said. “Do you have any children? Forgive me for asking, I forgot. John's only your boyfriend.”

“I'm very glad he is my boyfriend,” Rose said. “We... it took us a long time to become lovers. So no, we haven't talked about having children yet.”

“Oh.”

“Are you and Jack...?”

“Engaged,” Estelle said, pouring each of them some tea. “It hasn't been very long, only two weeks, and I still need to get used to the idea.”

“Congratulations,” Rose said, raising her cup.

“Jack asked me to go shopping with you. For you,” Estelle said after they'd set down their cups.

“Oh no, I couldn't possibly...” Rose protested.

“He said you'll probably stay with us for a while.”

Rose swirled the contents of her mug. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I know it must be bad for you, Rose,” Estelle offered, covering her hand with hers. “But I know that, eventually, you'll find your way home. To John and your life.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, or ungrateful, it's just that... I've fought so hard for this life with John,” Rose said, trying to keep a grip on her emotions. She'd done enough crying already, and she needed all her wits about her if she wanted to find a way home.

-:-

Jack rang just before lunch to tell Estelle he wouldn't be joining them. Then he asked to speak to Rose. She accepted the receiver with a frown to keep the sudden rush of excitement at bay. Whatever he wanted to talk to her about, she didn't want to get her hopes up only to have them crushed. She couldn't break down in front of Estelle. She just couldn't.

“Jack?”

“How'd you like to work for Torchwood?”

Rose looked up to exchange a helpless glance with Estelle, but she'd left the hall. Rose bent her head to study the beautiful Victorian tiles. Did she want to work for Torchwood? “I...”

“You still there, Rosie?”

Rose sobbed and laughed at the same time, covering her cheek with her free hand. The endearment took her even further back in time. “Yeah.”

“You all right? Working for Torchwood now can't be any worse than 72 years into the future.”

“No,” Rose breathed, running her hand down her cheek.

“See? They haven't got me,” Jack replied.

Rose laughed softly. “Right. How could I resist working with you? But you know, I...”

“When we find a way home, we find a way home. Until then we might as well put our knowledge at the service of the good people of our past,” Jack said. “Right?”

“Right. I'd love to. It's just... a little unexpected.”

“I know. I've told Estelle to take you out and spend some money. I'd like you to start right after,” he said.

Rose nodded.

“Rosie? I can't see you, you know. Phones are still audio only back in your time, aren't they?”

“Yes, they are. Mostly.”

“Thought so. Have fun.”

“Yeah. And Jack? Thanks.”

-:-

Estelle insisted that she take Rose to the hairdresser's and Rose was more than reluctant at first. But when she saw the result of an hour's sitting, she nearly didn't recognise herself, and wished she could wear that style to the next Grand Event. Her honey-coloured hair fell in soft waves around her face, flattering her jawline.

“You look stunning, Rose!” Estelle exclaimed in delight as she picked her up. She'd gone to see her doctor in the meantime. “I could almost forgive you for wearing those,” she said, gesturing at Rose's pair of grey Converse.

Rose had agreed to many things, but her trainers were an absolute must, as well as the wide-cut pair of trousers she had selected. “If Jack wants me to work for him, I need practical clothes, Estelle. I can't work in heels and skirts, beautiful though they are. But I think this blouse is okay. It's gorgeous, ” she'd told her, fingering its soft material.

After Estelle had settled the bill, they left the salon. They'd arranged for all their bags to be sent to Florence Gardens, so they were unhampered by bags and boxes.

“Well?” Rose asked after a while, bumping shoulders with Estelle.

Estelle took a deep breath before she said, “I'm going to be a mum!”

They cried and laughed and hugged each other. As Rose pulled back, still beaming, she thought how odd it was that she'd made friends with Estelle so quickly. She had to be careful not to like her too much, because she'd have to leave eventually. She'd had to leave many friends behind in her life. And every time she had to do it, it became harder.

“I'm so happy for you,” she said, sincerely but with less exuberance than she'd felt moments before.

“We'll have to celebrate tonight!” Estelle said. “When you get back from Torchwood. Make sure you aren't late!”

Rose smiled a reassuring smile, knowing full well that she might not be able to keep that promise, hating that she had to do that to her.

She smoothed back her elaborately curled hair as she went up to Torchwood Travel's reception desk in a remote corner of the Midland Grand – past the bar and just to the right of the small staircase. A bored looking, middle-aged woman was sitting at the counter. She peered at Rose over the rims of her spectacles as she stepped up to the desk. Rose pulled the leaflet Jack had sent her earlier out of her bag. Inside the leaflet was her ticket to Torchwood.

The lady's face lit up considerably as she opened it and discovered Jack's note. “You telephoned yesterday, didn't you, Miss Tyler?” the receptionist asked her.

Rose recognised her voice immediately. “Yes, I did.”

“Well, we still haven't got what you're looking for, but if you'd be willing to step into the office, I'll see what I can do for you,” she told Rose, rising, and inviting her with a gesture to go through the door behind the desk.

Rose nodded her thanks.

As she entered the corridor behind the door, she recognised it. Nathan's lab was at its far end. She could hear a bell ring somewhere, and Adam stepped out of his room.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, beckoning her over to him. “We're in here. Cuppa?”

When Rose stepped into the room Adam had gone back to, she didn't immediately notice the auburn-haired woman. Adam gestured for her to take a seat around a huge, felt-topped table, putting a mug in front of her.

“I knew I could trust both of you with Torchwood's money,” Jack said. “You look beautiful, Rosie.” He barely gave her time to blush. He introduced her to Nick, who apparently was their security expert. He had ended his career in breaking and entering when he succeeded in getting through Torchwood's tight security by sheer stubbornness and inventiveness. He was about Rose's age, and would have been quite plain-looking with his thin mouth and mousy hair if it hadn't been for his eyes. One of them was brown, the other blue with flecks of brown.

And then there was the auburn-haired woman. She eyed Rose with a mixture of wariness and cockiness, twirling a lolly in her mouth. Like Rose she was wearing wide-cut trousers and a blouse. “And this is Mo. She's trying to quit smoking,” Jack said.

Mo removed the lolly from her mouth with a plop, blew Jack a kiss, and it was when she smiled her lopsided smile that Rose knew she'd seen her before. Rose smiled at Mo, trying to place her face and deciding that putting on the Vitex daughter's mask a bit couldn't hurt. “Hello, Rose,” Mo said. Her voice was warm and slightly smoky, a voice Rose knew she could listen to for hours on end.

“Rose, they all know when you're from,” Jack said, sitting down in his chair, sipping at his tea. “I thought it'd make working together less awkward, and I think it's safe to say you won't spoil them with tomorrow's results of the lottery.”

Rose nodded. The idea that they knew about her would take some getting used to, but that way no one would question her authority when she shared her knowledge and experience with them.

“Now, to business,” Jack said, pushing aside his mug to prop himself on the table. “We've had some peculiar energy spikes whose provenance we can't explain. Yet. One of our theories involves Rose. Probably not as their cause, but certainly as their result. Adam's scan of her did show some Chronon particles, but we couldn't find those when we scanned the room at number 23 yesterday morning. Still, we think that the energy spike and Rose's appearance are linked.”

“Nathan and I have drawn up a chart of all the particles found on Rose's body,” Adam said, standing to move to the blackboard. She kept glimpsing back at Mo, still trying desperately to place her. Rose forced herself to concentrate on the blackboard, leaning forward on her elbows.

Scribbled on it were the formula of Chronon particles, and those of some identified and unidentified particles, some of which looked familiar to Rose. She stood, joined Adam at the board and picked up the duster, nearly sneezing at the cloud of chalk dust that rose from it, and removed some characters from a particular cluster. As she picked up the chalk she remembered. She filled the empty spaces she'd created. “Void Stuff.”

“Is that a technical term?” Mo asked, her voice slightly amused.

“As a matter of fact, yes, it is,” Rose said, turning towards her. Where had she seen her face before? Mo had finished her lolly and was chewing on the empty stick. “It's the stuff that clings to you when you travel between universes.”

Mo looked at her steadily. “You've travelled between universes?”

Rose nodded. Everyone was looking at her now.

“That's how you knew me,” Jack concluded, “from the other universe?”

“Yeah,” Rose croaked.

“Is there a Mo too?”

“I don't know. I'm... I never travelled...”

Adam leaned against the strut supporting the blackboard. “Is there another Rose?”

For a moment, Rose was tempted to tell them the truth. But this wasn't something they needed to know. “No,” she said. “I'm the only one.” At least as regards these two universes, she added silently.

“But how can you travel between universes? What links them?” Mo asked, now genuinely intrigued.

“You can't. It was an accident. The walls between the universes had come down, but the breach has been sealed off now,” Rose explained.

“And you're quite sure that that can't happen again?” Nathan asked.

“I... never ever say never, but for the moment? In 1938 and 2010 both, no,” she said firmly.

Nathan smiled gently at her. “We just need to rule out possibilities, Rose.”

Rose took a deep breath. “Yeah, I know.”

Adam spoke up then. He'd been studying the other formulae, the ones Rose hadn't touched. “What about these?” he asked. “Did we get these right?”

Rose sighed. “I'm afraid the Void Stuff is the only particle I'm really familiar with.”

“So they could be wrong?” Adam clarified.

“That is quite possible, yes,” Rose said carefully.

“Good, that gives us something to work on while you're away,” Adam mused, taking the piece of chalk from Rose.

Rose blinked. “I... where am I going?”

“We, Rosie,” Jack said, gesturing at everyone as he went, “that is you, Nick, Mo and myself, are going to go to Munich. Our asset there sent us some interesting data that we think are worth investigating. She's registered the same energy spikes as we have.”

-:-

“Munich?” Estelle exclaimed in horror. “Why? When?”

Rose's heart clenched. Her new friend had been so excited that afternoon, about the baby and telling Jack, and the news of their trip ruined her plans, and her mood.

“The day after tomorrow; the train tomorrow is fully booked,” Jack replied. “Why are you so upset about this, love?” He reached out to cover her small hand with his.

Estelle's eyes welled up. “Well, I... it's nothing, it's just me being a bit silly. And surprised. Gosh, Munich. That's so far away.”

Rose decided that she deserved an honest answer. “Estelle, I'm... I'm from your future, very far in your future, and something has happened in Munich that's happened here when I... arrived. It was a horrible accident, and the only hope of me finding a way back home is trying to find out what happened.”

“Oh,” Estelle said. “It's that kind of Torchwood work.” She laughed dejectedly. “I should have realised when you chose your clothes.”

“I'm sorry, Estelle,” Rose said.

“No, don't. It's all right. I understand. I'd do anything to get back to my beloved too.”

Rose mouthed a thank you to her as Jack swooped Estelle up in her arms. “We'll be back in no time, my love,” she heard him whisper to her.

They spent the evening together in the parlour, playing scrabble and listening to music. At some point, Mo turned up, kissing each of them on both cheeks, joining in their game. Mo was very different from the woman Rose had met at Torchwood that afternoon. She was relaxed and warm, and she and Estelle seemed to get on very well. All four of them were sucking on lollies as they cheered and groaned over the boardgame, discussing which words were acceptable; only entries from the OED qualified, even when Rose suggested they play in teams to give Estelle and Mo a fair chance.

When the game was finished Jack swept each of the women in his arms for a dance, twirling and waltzing them around the room. Mo eventually selected a romantic record, and she and Rose watched from the sofa as Jack and Estelle gently swayed to the music.

“They look wonderful together,” Mo said.

“Yeah,” Rose agreed, looking at her hands. As happy as she was for them, seeing them together like this made her wonder if she and the Doctor would ever be able to dance like that again.

“You've left someone behind in your time, haven't you?” Mo said, turning her attention from the couple to Rose.

She smiled. “John,” she said, wanting to use his real name, the two syllables that had come to mean the world, the universe, to her. “His name's John.”

“Tell me bout him,” Mo said.

Rose laughed softly, sliding down in her seat so she could rest her head on the back of the sofa. “I love him. He's... clever and mad and like a little boy lost and funny. He babbles when he's nervous and he's very vulnerable for all his cockiness.”

“And he's a good lover?” Mo suggested, dropping her voice.

“Oh yes, the best. But don't tell him, he's quite full of himself as it his,” Rose said, giggling.

“Is there a photo of him in your locket?” Mo asked, and Rose's hand flew to her necklace. “I couldn't help noticing it,” Mo added, shrugging.

“I... yes. He gave it to me for my birthday,” Rose said, taking off the necklace so Mo could look at the photo. She hadn't even shown it to the Doctor yet. She'd meant to, after she'd found the perfect picture of him and put it into the tiny frame. She'd snapped the picture as he'd played with Tony; he was looking down at her brother, grinning at his antics. That moment was so pure Doctor, and yet also the man he had become since Bad Wolf Bay.

Mo purred. “He's gorgeous.”

“And he knows it,” Rose said affectionately.

Mo kept looking at the image for a while longer, totally oblivious now of the dancing couple, until she snapped the locket shut. “You must be heartbroken.”

Rose accepted the necklace and put it back around her neck. She didn't dare reply.

“Would you like to leave him a message? Just a little something so he knows you're all right chez nous, and trying to find your way back home?”

Rose's eyes lit up at the idea. It had already crossed her mind, but she'd been too shy to ask Jack for help, to even ask if there was any chance at all of the Doctor receiving her message. “How?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“Number 23 is your place in 2010, isn't it?”

Rose nodded.

“Well, I happen to have the keys for it. We could find a place where he'd look and find it, and hope it won't get lost in the next seven or so decades,” Mo said.

Rose didn't dare speak, afraid she could scare away the fragile bubble of hope with her raspy voice. She had to clear her throat before she said softly, “I'd like that very much.”

-:-

The next day, when Mo joined them for lunch – her treat, she'd brought a huge selection of sandwiches and sweets from a nearby café – she winked conspiratorially at Rose. She also brought an instant camera, Nathan's latest creation, and took photos of Rose, claiming Nathan needed some feedback, and that they needed the pictures for their personnel files. When no one was looking, she gave Rose the photos so she could hide them in different places around the house.

Mo and Rose slipped into the house across the street, but when Rose asked Mo where she'd got the keys, Mo just shrugged and told her she'd taken them off the keyboard behind the front desk at the Midland Grand. “The house is Torchwood's?”

Mo shrugged. “Technically, no. We've got the keys and the owner's instructions to make sure the house is safe to live in.”

“Quite right too,” Rose sighed. “It certainly isn't safe in my time.”

“I'm sure we'll figure it out, Rose,” Mo said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Now, ready to find a nice hiding place or two?”

The Willows was the same and yet different from the house in her natural time. The décor was different, of course, the Doctor's workshop hadn't been built yet, and the conservatory was a glass and steel structure in desperate need of a new coat of paint. She smiled wistfully as she remembered the night of her birthday, when they'd made love and spent their first night in there.

“Maybe we shouldn't leave anything in the room from which I disappeared,” Rose suggested.

“Maybe we should. It's the place he'll search most thoroughly,” Mo replied.

Rose shrugged. She had three items to hide, what could it hurt? The two photos and the letter she'd written. She decided to leave one of the photos in her room, another in the Doctor's room, and the letter in the master bedroom.

The master bedroom was empty, the walls bare; she smiled as she noticed that the cornice was damaged as well, and, stepping towards the place that was occupied by their bed, she traced her fingers over the wall. No leaves were painted on it, and Rose wondered who had put them there, and when.

“Memories?” Mo asked softly, leaning against the door frame, sucking on a lolly.

“Yeah, well,” Rose said, “not really. We'd only stayed here for one night when it happened. When we removed the wallpapers – there were layers and layers of them, unlike now – we found leaves painted on the wall and ceiling, right where we'd wanted to put the bed. John really loved them. Said it's like lying beneath the willow trees outside.”

Mo smiled. “You forgot something,” she said, pushing herself away from the door.

“What?” Rose asked, confused.

“John is very romantic.”


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The Doctor took the envelope to their room and put it on his bedside table where it lay forgotten until he returned to get ready for bed late that night. He placed his glasses on it before he undressed and went to the bathroom for a quick shower and to brush his teeth. Pete hadn't given him an answer as to how they were going to tell Tony about Rose's disappearance.

The atmosphere in the house changed considerably at the news that the stalker was dead. As they sat together having coffee after supper, The Doctor decided that he should return to The Willows the next morning. Now that it was clear that the threat they’d feared wasn’t the cause of Rose’s disappearance, there was no reason for Tony to stay home from kindergarten. There would be no distraction to be had by playing Lego and going out for walks. He might as well go home and work.

Home.

The word sounded empty and hollow. Rose wouldn't be there to make it warm and welcoming, a place where he longed to be. Without her, it was just four walls and a roof.

Turning back the covers, he found his pyjamas and slipped them on, and as he settled down, his eyes fell, once more, on the envelope beneath his glasses. The envelope came between him and the book he'd brought. It was a book he'd read several times, and he'd thrown it into his bag in the hope of finding some comfort among the familiar words.

Rose wanted him to read this. He wasn't sure he wanted to admit defeat by opening the letter now. Rose had disappeared, but there was no evidence that she'd... that she wouldn't be able to return. Would he betray her if he read the letter now – would it mean that he'd given up on her? Or would he betray her if he didn't read the letter now – because she'd left it for him in case something happened to her?

Gathering his courage, he slid on his glasses and ripped open the envelope.

Dear Doctor,

This is the most difficult letter I’ve ever had to write. What do I say? How does one possibly console,a person's broken heart after something like this? It would be another attempt at comforting you with words that mean nothing to you, that will sound like lies even.

You have lost people dear to you before. You lost me once. Somehow you survived. Even though we each took a part of you with us, a part of us will always be with you.

Take your time to mourn me, but please accept comfort when it’s offered and move on, continue on your big adventure. I want you to be happy more than anything else. You’ve made me happy, so very happy. Thank you for giving me such a fantastic life, a life I’d never even have dreamed of before you took my hand and told me to run. Now I want you to do that for me. Run, as fast as you can, and have a fantastic, brilliant life, and don’t forget that I’ll love you forever.

Rose

He read the letter through two or three times and couldn't decide if he should be smiling or crying. Rose knew exactly what he needed to hear, even when she needed comforting herself. He recognised the date. She'd written the letter the night she'd broken down over the stalker's threats.

A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. When it opened, Tony's form was a dark silhouette against the wedge of the hall lighting.

“Hey there,” the Doctor said softly, surprised at how tear-y he sounded. Hopefully, the boy wouldn't pick up on it. “I thought I'd tucked you in.”

“I can't sleep,” Tony said.

“Did youfool me when I tucked you in earlier?” the Doctor asked, mock-sternly.

“No.”

He sighed. “Would you like me to tuck you in again?”

Tony remained silent, his hand still on the doorknob. There clearly was something on his mind, and he was struggling to find the right words. “Can I stay with you?”

The Doctor nodded. “You can have Rose's side of the bed if you want to,” he said.

Tony flicked the switch in the hall and closed the door before he launched himself at the bed. “What are you reading?”

“It's a letter from Rose,” his treacherous tongue said before he could stop it.

“Oh. What does she say?” Tony crept up behind him to peer at the letter. He couldn't read more than a couple of printed words, but still the Doctor folded the letter and put it back into its envelope.

“She says she misses you,” he said.

“I miss her too,” Tony said, kneeling.

“She wants me to tell you not to be sad,” the Doctor continued.

Tony smiled. He'd do anything for his beloved big sister. “Can I still stay with you tonight?”

The Doctor chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair. He didn't know what he'd do without him, and for a split second he wondered what having a child with Rose would be like. Tony crawled to Rose's side of the bed as the Doctor nudged him so he could settle down for the night. He'd barely draped the covers over them and made himself comfortable that he noticed that Tony had already fallen asleep. His regular breathing was soothing, just what the Doctor needed. Soon enough he felt himself drift off to sleep as well.

“Doctor?”

The soft child's voice broke into his dream, and a touch to his shoulder roused him even more quickly.

“Doctor?”

The images of his dream faded quickly, but they left behind a powerful feeling of loss, an emptiness that reminded him of a vast white room. He blinked his eyes open. Tony swam into focus. “What is it, Tony?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep, but laced with concern.

“Why are you crying, Doctor?” The boy sounded alarmed.

The Doctor sat up, wiping his cheeks. They were, indeed, wet. “I was having a sad dream,” he said, trying to smile to comfort Tony. “'s just a dream.”

“Like when I scream, or giggle?”

The Doctor's eyes went wide in not-quite-mock surprise. “You giggle in your dreams?”

Tony shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“I guess it's like that then,” he replied.

“Are you still sad?”

“No,” the Doctor sighed, still smiling, “it was just a dream. I can't even remember it now.”

“Good. I hate having bad dreams,” Tony said. He was kneeling on the bed, sporting the worst case of bed hair the Doctor had even seen on anyone but himself. When his smile widened, the gesture was genuine. The better the sad dream was forgotten the better. He'd never woken crying before. Screaming, yes, but never crying. Or giggling, like Tony. He cast a quick glance at his watch.

“I think it's time to get up,” the Doctor said.

Tony sighed, but eventually clambered out of the bed. “Mum says I'm going back to kindergarten today.”

“That's great!” the Doctor enthused. “You'll see all your friends again. You can play properly with them.”

“I like playing with you, Doctor,” Tony said.

The Doctor smiled. “Ah, but I'm sure they're much better at playing than I am.”

“No!” Tony protested and launched himself at the Doctor with a squeal. The Doctor flopped back onto the bed with Tony, tickling him thoroughly before rolling out of bed with him.

“Come on, you. Your Mum'll be very angry if we're late for breakfast.”

He planted the boy firmly on his feet and sent him on his way to his own bedroom. He was going to go back to the Willows, no matter how welcome he felt at the Tyler Mansion or how good Tony was for him.

-:-

When he pulled into the gravel driveway of the Willows, a strange car was parked there. He got out of the car and, without bothering with his bags, he went to the back door and found it unlocked. His heart was pounding in his chest as he pushed the door open and stepped inside. This was beyond wrong. He shouldn't be feeling anxious about entering his own home – well, such as it was without Rose there. Or was Rose back?

“Hello?” he asked, his voice clear as he went through the kitchen to the hall. He called again, “Hello?” He didn't dare use her name. He didn't want to get his hopes up.

The floorboards upstairs creaked. “I'm up here,” a female voice replied. It definitely wasn't Rose's. Then he remembered. Pete had promised to get Torchwood involved in the investigation into Rose's disappearance. His heart was still racing, in excitement this time, as he ran up the stairs taking two steps at a time

The owner of the voice was in Rose's room, taking readings. She had her back to him, but he could tell she was petite, and her hair was very ginger. “Hello,” he said, standing just inside the door. Something kept him from entering the room. It made the hairs in the nape of his neck stand on end. The room was bristling with a strange kind of energy that swirled about it like a current, like the breeze that was allowed in through the open sash windows. Something was happening, something the woman was unaware of as she was working. The Doctor closed the distance between them with a few long strides, grabbed her by the hand and pulled her out of the room, and into the safety of the upstairs hall.

“Oi, what did you do that for?” she protested, the momentum of the rather jerky movement propelling her into the Doctor's arms. He caught her, and she felt even smaller in his arms than Rose. He let go of her.

“It's not safe in there,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

She looked at him in surprise. Her eyes were an amazing green, and he thought that she looked like an elf. There was a bemused twinkle in her eyes, and she dropped the device she'd been holding to her side. He'd probably ruined the readings. “Why would you think that?”

“I don't know. I just... do. Something's going in there. Timey-wimey stuff,” he added for good measure. Then his eyes went wide as he realised. “Oh. Oh!” Again, he ran his fingers through his hair. “I remember that! I've felt it before.”

As he grabbed the device and tilted his head so he could read the data on the display, he whipped out his glasses and put them on. The woman was a bit reluctant to let go of her device, but he tugged at it hard enough to force her to give it up. He studied the device for half a minute, wishing he had his sonic screwdriver – even if it was just an early prototype at the moment – so he could make the necessary adjustments. He started fiddling with the buttons on the device.

“Oi! What do you think you're doing!?” the woman protested.

“Making this work. The way it is now?” He looked at her over the edge of his glasses, “It won't give us the readings we need.”

“And what is it we need?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Dunno.” He flashed her his most winning grin. “Stuff. Timey-wimey stuff.”

She reached up to hide her smile with a delicate gesture. “You really are as mad as they say,” she muttered.

“Yeah,” he said, barely acknowledging her until he thought he'd gotten it right. “What?” he looked up as her words registered with his busy mind.

“You're John Noble, right?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I'm Sophie Doyle. Pleased to meet you,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Oh. I... I remember seeing you. Well, not you, because we've never met. But I've seen your photo. On Lucas' desk. Oh!” he smacked his forehead. “You're that Sophie Doyle!”

Sophie chuckled. “I guess I am.”

“Brilliant! I don't suppose you could... make some tea?”

“You're supposed to make me tea,” Sophie replied perfectly serious.

His jaw went slack for a moment. “And I'm being rude. Sorry, won't take a minute.” With that he bravely stepped inside Rose's room to take readings of the crackling current that set his timey-wimey sense on edge.

“What, exactly, is it you're doing, Mr Noble?” He could sense her by his elbow.

“Ssh, and it's Doctor,” he said. “Something's going on in here.”

Sophie sighed, but stepped away to give him some space. He held out the device in front of him when he'd found a spot that made his neck prickle. Unsurprisingly, the spot happened to overlap with the splattered paint on the floor. He remained in the spot for as long as he dared, then he stepped back, hitting the button that saved the reading to the device's harddrive.

“Nice toy you have there,” he said, turning it over in his hands. It looked like a fancy mp3-player. “Much nicer than my timey-wimey detector.”

“Thanks, I guess. I have no idea what you're talking about. But thanks anyway.” And with that, Sophie plucked the device from his hand as he weighed it carefully in his open palm.

“Hey!” he protested.

“Sorry, Torchwood property.”

“I work for Torchwood.”

“I know, but you're not working this case.”

“I wish,” he began, a bit exasperated at first, “you wouldn't call it that.”

“What do you prefer calling it then?”

He shrugged, suddenly drained of all the energy that had coursed through him just moments ago. The Time Lord in him had gotten too excited. “I don't know. Getting Rose Back? GRoB?”

Sophie shook her head. “You're mad.”

“But you like it.”

She laughed. “You're quite full of yourself, you are. What about that tea?”

“Yes, sorry. That's me, rude and not ginger.” He bit his lip and his eyes went wide as he realised what he'd said. “Sorry.”

Again, she laughed. He already loved that sound. It was warm and genuine. “We'd make a perfect team.”

“I guess so,” he said.

They stood in silence for a while. The crackling had lessened somewhat as he'd finished taking the readings, and when he looked back into the room, he found that he couldn't sense anything out of the ordinary. “Tea?”

“I'd love that.”

Sophie sat at the table watching him as he moved around the kitchen preparing their tea. When he was finished, he set her mug down in front of her, with a bottle of milk and the sugar bowl. He felt much calmer than he had a few minutes ago. Sophie still radiated amusement, but she also regarded him carefully, as if she was trying to suss him out.

“It's a lovely place,” she said, adding sugar and milk to her tea.

“That it is.”

“Still lots of work to do, though.”

“Yeah. It's a bit difficult with Rose gone.”

“What exactly happened up there?”

The Doctor wrapped his fingers around the mug. “Time is not right in Rose's room. The fabric of time, maybe even space. I can sense it, and I've sensed it before. I just can't tell what exactly it is that is off,” he began.

“Is it there all the time? Like the rift?” Sophie asked, carefully sipping her tea.

“No, it's not. I've only sensed it once before... and I was in the street then, so it was very faint, and I didn't know what it was... it's... as if someone's just walked over your grave, but even weaker than that,” he said.

“But you're sure it has to do with the fabric of time,” Sophie pointed out.

“Yes.” He nodded, tightening his grip around the mug. “It's... something at least.”

“Would the anomaly account for Rose's disappearance?”

“Would it be strong enough to make her disappear?” the Doctor asked. “I'm not sure. I'd need to check the data we've collected.”

“What have you done to it anyway?” Sophie asked, smiling and pulling the device from her pocket. “I hope this is still working. Collins will have my head.”

“Oh, you'll find it works better than before,” he reassured her, reaching across the table to take the device from her. Sophie let go of it and he drew up the readings he had taken to study them. There was something not quite right about them. They looked familiar, tickled some memory, but it was elusive and his brain told him that it didn't really match anything he'd seen before – and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he should recognise the data.

“This doesn't look like a major breakthrough,” Sophie said, putting her empty mug down.

The Doctor returned the device to her. “No, but at least now I can be sure that something is going on inside that room. That's something, isn't it?” He knew he had to hold back lest he be disappointed if the readings turned out to be something entirely different. He remembered that morning's tears and pressed his lips firmly together.

“Maybe we should check all the rooms, just to make sure we haven't missed anything,” Sophie suggested.

“Feel free,” he said. He wanted to be left in peace, despite the discovery. He needed time to think things over, and for once he wasn't afraid of what his subconscious might throw at him. “But you won't find anything.”

“Timey-wimey sense and all,” Sophie sighed, clearly a bit puzzled by his reaction. He was about to say something when she rose. “I'll be as quick as I can. Do I need to make any adjustments on this?” she asked, waving her device.

He shook his head. After she had left to inspect the rest of the house – and he was sure she wouldn't find anything else – he put away their mugs and withdrew to his room to unpack his things.

The rapping on the open door frame startled him as he wondered how to organise his school things. “I'm done,” Sophie said softly. “I... I thought maybe we should exchange mobile numbers, just in case...”

“Oh yes, brilliant idea,” he said, fishing for his phone in his pocket. After they had exchanged numbers she left. Lost in thought, he wandered into his room where he placed his phone on his desk – another treasure Rose had discovered at a flea market – he wondered briefly where Rose's mobile was. Then he remembered the bag of her belongings the Met had taken and returned. It was still sitting on the counter in the kitchen where he'd left it before he had gone to stay at Pete and Jackie's.

He found Rose's phone in the kitchen and it on, only to find that it was password-protected. Of course. He knew that she had left the password for him somewhere, but in the chaos that was their move, he didn't even know where to begin with his search. It wasn't that he expected her to call from wherever she was – if that was at all possible; she did not have her superphone any more. Having switched it off, he put it down thoughtfully. It was probably nothing.

When he dropped into bed that night after supper and a quick shower, he felt much better than he had since Rose's disappearance. He was exhausted, because he had worked hard all day in his room and the library and had gotten a lot done. The Willows didn't look so empty any more, and it felt more like a home. It did help, of course, that he knew that something was going on in Rose's room. If he wanted to explore it further he knew he couldn't do so without Sophie's and Torchwood's help. He briefly wondered if he should have told Pete about their discovery, but he felt he'd better hold back for now. He might sound more enthusiastic than Sophie would in her report to Pete. He didn't want to raise their hopes based on a timey-wimey feeling of his, particularly not one that he couldn't even identify himself.

He found Rose's letter tucked into the book he'd taken to the Mansion and not read. The terrible loneliness and emptiness he'd experienced in this morning's dream had without doubt been inspired by it, despite her uplifting words: accept comfort when it’s offered and move on. They stood out clearly in his mind. He briefly wondered if she'd left Pete, Jackie and Tony letters too.

He shouldn't have opened it. He felt as if he had betrayed her. Did it mean that he had given up on her too soon?

If there was one thing he'd learned it was to trust his senses.

He curled up beneath the covers, wrapping his form around Rose's pillow.

He'd try everything to get her back. He had fought so hard for this to work, to build a happy life with her. And just like that, it had all come apart.

But even if he got her back – and he was sure he would, he was determined to – what would become of their relationship? She hadn't trusted him with the stalker's letters. Part of him knew that she'd wanted to protect him, but the other part of him, the one that wanted her to trust him, couldn't shake the feeling that life wouldn't be as easy once she was back.

The cold he had experienced that morning returned, more forcefully now, and despite the good day he'd had, he fell asleep with his cheeks damp.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Rose found herself on the train to Dover again, but compared to the faster trains of her time the journey seemed endless on a 1938 vintage coach. Mo had gotten them two compartments on one of the three trains per week that serviced Munich. The fact that they needed the first train available and that it was fully booked didn't seem to pose any problem to her. She'd just winked at Jack and said something about someone owing her. When they got off the ferry in Calais, Mo led them straight to the Orient Express platform.

They stopped at the ticket barrier where Mo showed their tickets and their bags would be collected to be put in their compartments. “You are kidding,” Rose guffawed.

Mo just arched a carefully plucked eyebrow at her. “It is a long journey, Rose. I don't know what you're used to, but I certainly am all for comfort.”

“No objections from me,” Jack grinned.

“Nope,” Nick agreed a little nervously.

Rose laughed. “I'm not... I mean... The Orient Express! It's legendary.”

“Is it?” Mo asked, affecting nonchalance.

“Come on,” Jack said, bumping Rose's shoulder with his arm. “You'll love it.”

“I will,” Rose said, thinking back to the times she'd travelled this route already. The first time she'd taken the train to Munich she was distraught, the second time around she had been beside herself with worry for the Doctor. The third time, he'd been with her, and they'd continued their journey to Vienna. The ticket inspector roused her from her memories when he handed her a brochure along with her ticket, took her bag and placed it on a luggage cart.

“Our lounge is over there, madam,” he said. “The train won't leave for another hour.”

Rose thanked him and almost curtsied. Mo laughed out loud and hooked her arm around her elbow, tugging her away to the lounge. “Is travelling on the Orient Express really such a big deal in your place?”

Mo had started to refer to 2010 as if it were a strange, foreign country, and Rose thought that she probably wasn't so wrong about that. When she had been travelling to the future with the Doctor she had felt out of place more often than not. Even though they'd stayed on Earth, going to the future had always made her feel as though she'd gone to an entirely different place.

“It doesn't even exist any more,” Rose said, sitting down at a free table. The lounge was quite crowded, the air heavy with smoke. She'd gotten used to the smoking ban so fast that she couldn't remember what going to the pub had been like before it. She certainly didn't miss the smell. Her eyes began to water immediately and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Are you all right?” Nick asked as he slipped into the chair next to her.

“Yeah,” Rose said. “There's a smoking ban back home. I guess I'm not used to people smoking in public.”

Three pairs of eyes looked at her in utter surprise. She ducked her head, suddenly reminded her of how different life in 1938 was from her own time.

“Well, good job I'm quitting,” Mo said, producing a paper bag full of lollies from her handbag.

“Oh, I wouldn't,” Jack drawled, pointing at the approaching waiter. He carried a tray with four glasses of pale yellow, gently sparkling champagne and deposited a glass in front of each of them.

“Would be a shame,” Mo agreed, crumpling the bag up and returning it to her handbag.

“We usually end adventures with this,” Nick observed. “Well, not exactly. 's more like we have a beer down the pub.”

“Are you superstitious?” Mo teased.

“No,” Nick said. “Just feels weird.”

“Anyway,” Jack said, picking up his glass and raising it for a toast. “To new adventures.”

The others followed suit and they clinked their glasses.

An hour later, Rose and Mo settled into their compartment. It was all mahogany, brass and velvet, with a small private lounge next to the compartment where the bunk beds were. If the conductor showing them around was surprised by Rose's amazement at the luxurious amenities he didn't let on.

“Now follows the inevitable fight about who gets the bottom berth,” Mo said, leaning against the narrow door frame of the connecting door. The train began to move with a jerk, and she reached out for Rose to steady herself. The two women collapsed, giggling, and just avoided hitting their heads on the top bunk.

“I don't care much,” Rose said, “I won't be able to sleep on the train anyway.”

“But the bed looks so comfy,” Mo protested, then brightened. “Oh, just you wait. We'll have a lovely glass of red wine tonight, and a nightcap, and you'll be asleep in no time.”

Rose smiled, really appreciating Mo's kindness. She knew, however, that she wouldn't sleep a wink. The gentle rocking of the train had failed to lull her to sleep before, even when she had lain in the Doctor's arms. It was just... too restless. Also, the idea that she was moving away from him, from London, although he was seventy years removed from her, did do little to calm her. It just didn't feel right. She wanted to look for a way home in London. It was a place she knew, even though it was entirely different from the London she knew. She'd been to Munich before, but only to have breakfast at a brasserie. She didn't remember much about the place, apart from how heartbroken she'd been.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Mo said.

Rose looked at her and smiled softly. “I was just thinking about the place at which I had breakfast in Munich. About the pretzels they offered. They were divine. I wonder if that place still... already exists.”

Mo nodded. “Well, if it doesn't, I'm sure we'll be able to get pretzels elsewhere. It's a local speciality, isn't it?”

“Yes. They cut them in half and butter them,” she said, thinking that, oddly enough, she'd really enjoyed her breakfast, despite everything.

“You'll get back home,” Mo said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “And while you're here... I'd be happy to be your friend.”

Rose hugged her, unable at first to find the words to express her gratitude. “You already are my friend, Mo.”

-:-

Two days later the train pulled into Munich Hauptbahnhof so early that there was hardly time to have breakfast on the train unless they got up at a criminally early hour. Rose wouldn't have minded because she hadn't slept much on the train and she was completely knackered. She only dozed for an hour at a time, and when she finally set foot on the platform she couldn't shake the rocking feeling. She had read both of the books she'd bought at St Pancras, and she felt she really knew all three of her travelling companions quite well.

Nick was the quiet one. He listened to their conversations but didn't offer his opinion often, but when he did, it was usually a dry, witty comment that made them laugh, or a very insightful thought. He was the kind of person, Rose found, with whom it would be easy to share a longer period of time in silence. She was grateful he'd come. Apart from his technical knowledge he would keep the team grounded if needs be, and with someone like Mo and Jack around that was very important.

No matter how outgoing she seemed, there was clearly something she was holding back. Despite all the time they’d spent together on the train, Rose hadn’t really learned all that much about her and she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was hiding something. Something very personal.

Jack, the Jack of this universe, seemed to be just like himself. Funny, flirty, a bit ruthless, and, of course, reckless. He didn't share her Jack's fate of immortality; what was driving him instead was the need to get back home to his own time, to find a way to repair his broken Vortex Manipulator. This need was probably much stronger than whatever it was that had kept the Jack of her original universe going. Rose wondered, as she sat across from him at their table in the restaurant car, if Estelle had told him about the baby. Jack would keep something like that very close to his heart, yet she had a feeling that there hadn't been time to tell him.

They had left in quite a rush. After she and Mo had hidden the letter and photos at the Willows, Rose had spent the evening with Estelle and Jack and Mo had gone off to book the train tickets. Estelle hadn't said anything about her visit to the doctor then, and when they had met the next morning neither she nor Jack had looked like happy parents-to-be. Estelle had been very quiet. It was a bit early yet, and maybe she wanted to wait a bit, or maybe she didn't want to scare Jack, even though they were engaged. When they left around lunchtime Rose had hugged her good-bye, promising her that they'd be careful.

Mo insisted that the hotel she'd booked for them wasn't too far from the central station, and that they could easily walk there. Rose and the men agreed, once they'd arrived at their hotel at Marienplatz, that Mo was basically right – if one didn't have luggage and wasn't exhausted from the long journey. Nick pointed out that they could at least have caught the tram from the station to the hotel, as there was a stop just outside.

They left their bags at the hotel and had breakfast in a café next to the town hall. Fortified with coffee and pretzels and the best rolls they had ever tasted, they played a bit at being tourists before they collapsed, utterly exhausted, in the shade of a willow tree in the English Garden. Their hotel room wouldn't be ready until well into the afternoon, and Agnes Grandauer, their contact, wouldn’t be available to meet with them until dinner.

It was a lovely day with many people around, and if it hadn't been for them spreading blankets in the grass, none of them would have dared to settle down for a nap. Rose and Mo found themselves a spot in the dappled shade of a willow tree because the midday sun was quite a bit stronger than they'd thought. As Rose lay down and looked up into the foliage, the willow’s leaves and branches reminded her of home, and of the shimmering olive trees the Doctor had chosen as his sanctuary almost a year ago. She also thought of the leaves painted on their bedroom ceiling and wall where their bed was. She imagined the Doctor in their bed, alone now, maybe seeking comfort in the fake leaves above him, or breaking because of them.

Did he have any idea what had happened to her? He had all the help from modern Torchwood, and his brilliant mind. Surely, he must have worked out what had happened to her. He could get her back.

Her eyes flew open. How could he get her back, how could he find her, now that she was here? He'd never know where to look for her. Had he found her letter yet? Or the photos? Had Pete given him the letter?

Rose sat up abruptly, feeling sick to her stomach. What if the Doctor thought she was dead? What if he had found neither the letter nor any of the photos, and had just the letter from Pete to go by? It would break his heart, would end the adventure the Other had set them on before it had even begun. Rose clamped her hand firmly over her mouth, thinking she might be sick.

She jumped when she felt a hand between her shoulder blades. She felt Mo sit up next to her. Mo brushed the hair back from her face. “Are you all right, Rose?” she asked softly.

Rose shook her head, dropping her hand from her mouth.

“Is it... John?”

Rose nodded.

“Oh dear,” Mo sighed, rubbing her back. “You'll get back to him, I promise, love.”

“How?” Rose asked, her voice breaking as the sting in her eyes made the tears spill over. She'd not wanted to fall apart in front of anyone over this. They were doing what they could, had already done so much for her. And here she was, falling apart and being utterly ungrateful. “I'm... I'm not supposed to be here. I should have stayed in London. That's where he's looking for me. If he's still looking for me.”

“Of course he is,” Mo said.

“It's nice of you to say that,” Rose said.

Mo let go of her then. “Look at me, Rose,” she said firmly.

Rose wiped the tears from her face in a defiant gesture before she met Mo's eyes. Once more she couldn't shake the feeling she ought to recognise them, but that particular memory was still elusive.

“Now, the worst thing you can do is give up hope.”

Rose coloured. This was so very unlike her; she couldn't betray the Doctor like that. “You're right,” she sniffled. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologise,” Mo said, a bit softer now. “You're exhausted and you're scared. Now get some sleep, and put that energy to good use once you wake.” She smiled at her, and before Rose knew it, Mo had cupped one cheek and pressed a kiss on the other.

-:-

Agnes Grandauer was a small, plump woman with carefully coiffed blonde locks. She looked serious and a bit nervous when she stepped into the foyer of their hotel. Jack recognised her immediately, and he rose to meet her where she was standing in the middle of the room, scanning the people milling about. Her face lit up a bit when Jack introduced himself, but the nervousness was back almost immediately when he guided her to the corner seating unit they had chosen. All four of them felt a lot better after their afternoon nap in the sun and a bath.

“Agnes, meet Torchwood,” Jack said, introducing each of them. Agnes' handshake was firm and she smiled at each of them.

Her English was accented, but it was surprisingly good, Rose found. She quickly remembered that this world wasn’t as dominated by xenophobia and nationalism as her natural universe had been which meant that people tended to be more open-minded, including being willing to learn foreign languages.

“It's so nice that we can finally meet,” Agnes said, sitting on the sofa next to Nick. “I hope you had a nice journey. It's very long, yes?”

“We were quite comfortable, but yes, it was nice when we could finally get off the train,” Jack said, giving her his most charming smile.

“I'm sorry I couldn't come to meet you earlier,” Agnes went on. “We are quite busy, and... and I don't wan the Direktor to know about Torchwood.”

“That's okay,” Jack said, and Agnes blushed.

They left the foyer for the small garden that belonged to the hotel's restaurant. The atmosphere there was not quite as relaxed as at the Biergarten at the Chinese Tower where they'd had a light lunch, but it was comfortable and quiet. Perfect for talking. Agnes translated the menu for them, and once they had eaten, they set to work. They compared the readings Adam and Jack had taken at the Willows with the readings Nathan had recorded from the base at St Pancras and those Agnes had picked up in her lab. They all matched, except for one tiny little difference. That difference was an energy spike that turned up in the Munich and Willows reading, but not in the chart Nathan had printed out for them. Apart from that, the event itself had occurred at the same time, they found out, once Rose suggested the need to take the time difference into account. The energy flared in irregular intervals, and at no particular time. The only other thing they had been able to work out was that the flares had become more frequent

“That's odd,” Nick said, leaning back in his chair. He picked up his glass and drained the last of his shandy.

“Any explanation?” Jack asked, running his hand up and down the elegant curve of his own, empty glass.

Nick exhaled. “Not tonight, I'm afraid. I'm knackered, and I think we all could do with a good night's sleep.”

“Where did you say the energy centred?” Mo asked, unwrapping a lolly and sticking it into her mouth.

“Oh, ähm, just across the square,” Agnes said, a little flustered. She had forgotten to mention that little fact. “What is a little bit strange because it's the corner of the town hall. It's nothing special there.”

“Well, we'll have a look at that tomorrow,” Jack said. The lights had come on in the garden, and darkness was rapidly falling. Although the squre was well-lit, they still preferred investigating during the day. “But whatever it is, we have to act quickly because we can't risk anyone getting hurt.”

“Is it dangerous?” Agnes asked, her brow knitting in concern.

“I... we... it does affect peoples' lives,” Rose said. “But no one's got hurt.” At least not physically.

“Oh, that's... good,” Agnes said. “I mean, I'm sorry, of course, but... Well.” She got up, smiling nervously. She checked her watch. “I'm sorry, I have to go. My tram...”

“Allow me to accompany you,” Nick said, standing. “Are you sure you'll be fine on the tram?”

“Oh yes, thank you,” Agnes said. “Please don't... bother.”

“Let me at least see you to the stop.”

And off they went.

Rose slumped back in her chair. “I'm sorry, I thought... when we came here, it'd be a waste of time.”

“And it isn't any more?” Jack asked.

“No,” Rose said. “The flares are connected. I'm sure of it.”

“What exactly is it you do at Torchwood?” Jack asked, leaning forwards on his elbows.

“Field work. I'm a team leader, not a tech or anything like that. But I know things about aliens,” she explained.

“Have you seen anything like it before?” Mo asked.

“No, not exactly like this, but there's something familiar about it. I just can't quite figure out what,” she sighed. “I'll think of it, I'm sure. But not tonight.” She wished she could ask the Doctor. He'd know what it was without a moment's hesitation. Or he'd be just as stumped as her, ruffling his hair in frustration and urging himself to think think think. She smiled.

Jack checked his pocket watch. “Yeah, you're right. We all need a good night's sleep.”


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The Doctor came with a groan. His eyes flew open even while he was still struggling for air. He whispered her name, turning his head, but her side of the bed was empty. He squeezed his eyes shut in disappointment. When he slid a hand down his body, he found that the dream had been very powerful, and he flushed as he felt the stickiness coating his pyjama bottoms. He allowed himself to catch his breath before he went to the bathroom for a shower.

This was the second morning he'd woken like this. His dreams were most vivid just before he woke. As he lathered his skin the sensation of her touch the dream had left behind began to fade. He needed her, but giving himself relief before he went to sleep felt somehow wrong now. He'd do it when she was away for a longer time, when he couldn't or didn't want to wait for her. But that had changed now. The idea that there was someone else who masturbated to her image was very unsettling – even if that person was dead now. That was the damage the stalker's letters had done to him. He slammed his flat hand against the unforgiving tile in the shower in frustration. That man had done a lot more damage than he could have ever imagined.

The Doctor slammed his fist against the wall again, the pain a welcome distraction from his imagination. His eyes started to sting. He hit the tiles a third time with a bark of rage. He hated this, hated what he had been reduced to.

He stood unmoving for a while, the hot water pounding down on him. His hand was throbbing with pain, and eventually he flexed and wiggled his fingers to make sure he hadn't broken any of the delicate bones. Once he had finished in the bathroom, he got dressed and went to the kitchen for some tea and some ice for his hand.

Sipping his tea, his bad hand resting on a bed of ice, he realised that the stalker had too much power over him. He felt ashamed of himself for allowing that to happen. He wanted his life back, their life together. The Other would be appalled at him, and disappointed. And Rose?

Better not think about her.

He went to the gate to get the newspaper, rubbing his hand, and waved at Claire who was just returning home from an early run of errands. Closing her own garden gate she returned the gesture. His gaze lingered a while on the black slats of cast iron, and then suddenly it hit him. The prickling at the back of his neck, his timey-wimey sense alerting him – he had felt it all before.

This time, however, there was something different, and this was why he hadn't recognised it at first. He stood very still, an icy shiver running down his spine. The Weeping Angels.

It must be them. He couldn't be absolutely sure. So he needed to get to Torchwood and build a timey-wimey detector to investigate. His own workshop wasn't ready yet. But... before that he needed to check the house and grounds for stone statues. There were none, he'd have noticed, but you could never be sure in a place as large and full of nooks and crannies like the Willows. Maybe somehow one of them had found its way into the house... nah, he scolded himself, don't be ridiculous. There was none when he and Rose were working in the Willows, so how could she...

Oh.

If there were no Weeping Angels at the Willows how come their activity set off his timey-wimey sense and made Rose disappear?

There was definitely something he was missing.

But what was it?

He ran his hands through his damp hair, hissing as a sharp pain reminded him of the fact that he had nearly broken his left hand. Stupid stupid stupido.

He whirled through the house and the garden in search of a stone statue but there was none. Not even an Asian stone lantern or some other ornamental poppycock.

“John?”

The Doctor jumped, startled, from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, trying to think. He turned around quickly and noticed, with a sigh of relief that Claire was poking her head in through the kitchen door. She smiled gently, knocking on the door frame. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. The door was open and I saw you about so I thought...”

He smiled. “Don't worry. I was a bit lost in thought... a million miles away, me, these days. Anyway. How can I help you?” He gestured for her to come in and sit.

“I'm a bit embarrassed, actually,” she said, waving him off as he beckoned for her to sit again. “It seems that my computer is acting up a bit. There's some important work I need to get done this morning, but something seems to be wrong with my software. I was wondering if you could spare a minute. If it's not too much trouble.”

The timing couldn't be worse, but Claire had been so kind that he couldn't refuse her. Maybe a bit of a distraction would even help him figure out some of the holes in his theory. “No problem at all. I'm... ah... at a bit of a loss at the moment, so...”

Claire beamed at him and they left together; she frowned a bit as the Doctor locked up the house behind him, and he could sense that she felt a bit offended, but there was no way he would explain his behaviour to her. It would lead to him telling her about Rose's disappearance, and he didn't want anyone's pity. He felt bad enough as it was, and this would only complicate things.

Then he remembered that the police had knocked on her door, back when they'd been investigating Rose's abduction. He pressed his lips into a thin line and studied the caps of his trainers as he followed Claire to her house. Strangely enough, she didn't mention Rose's disappearance at all. Claire showed him to her study, a sunny room at the back of the house.

“This is beautiful!” the Doctor enthused as she held the door open for him. He whipped out his glasses to examine the notice board. “What a lovely room for writing. This is magnificent!”

Two of the walls were lined with bookcases holding both reference books and copies of her own work in several languages – her vanity shelf, she confided with a wink. The third wall was part notice board, part inspiration; while the notice-board half was covered in notes and clippings and maps, the other half of it was taken up by photos, postcards and posters of her current project's setting. Her desk, along with a state of the art computer, was facing the wide bay window, with a view of her lovely garden.

Claire smiled, gesturing for him to sit at her neat desk. She briefly showed him around on her computer before she left to make them some tea. The Doctor found it hard to focus on the task at hand. Glimpsing the workings of someone else's mind was just too tempting, and Claire's notice board certainly offered him great insight into her creative process. It was something he had always been fascinated with, and he made a mental note to check the Institute's library for books on that topic.

The bug in the program she used to organise her ideas and storyline was easily fixed, and he was almost done when she returned with two mugs of tea and something lumpy wrapped in a tea towel.

“Frozen peas for your hand,” she said. “It's all black and blue.”

“Oh,” the Doctor said, straightening. The woman was just as observant as Jackie, but she was a bit more discrete about it than Rose's Mum.

“I meant to say,” Claire began, “I'm sorry about Rose. I don't suppose you have had any news?” She gave him the icy bundle and helped him wrap it around his hand.

The Doctor clenched his jaw, but relaxed it just as quickly. He took off his glasses. Claire was trying to help, in an unobtrusive way, and he found he really appreciated that. She wouldn't be offended or insistent if he turned down her offer of help.

“No, no news,” he said softly. Which wasn't exactly true, because there was his theory, and the readings Sophie had taken the previous day, but he could hardly share that with Claire. He would have loved having her as a sounding board, but even if she understood half of what he was telling her, she'd never ask the right questions. He really needed to talk to Sophie.

“Hence the bruised hand,” Claire concluded. “May I have a look at it? Just to make sure nothing is broken.”

He removed the towel and bag of peas and held his hand out for her. It was quite colourful, and it hurt, but he didn't feel he'd broken any of the bones. Claire took it and gently examined it. “I have some medical training, but this seems to be okay,” she said, replacing the cold bundle.

“Thank you.”

“Is...” she gestured for the computer behind him.

“Oh, that's all done. Something from another program was interfering with... stuff, so I fixed it. Should be fine now,” he said.

She thanked him profusely and they lapsed into silence for a while. The Doctor scanned the titles of the books from where he sat at Claire's desk. The bookcase had been built to frame the old fireplace. The hearth was now home to a collection of CDs and a small stereo. The mantelpiece had been incorporated into the bookcase, and it showcased Claire's most treasured photos. “Can I show you something?” she asked as she followed his gaze to the silver frames.

He nodded, unsure what to expect.

Claire crossed the small space and picked up an old, yellowed photo. She looked at it briefly before she passed it on to him as if she wasn't sure about showing it to him. The range of emotions that flickered over her face was nothing short of bewildering. Longing and regret were foremost, but there was also a hardness around her mouth.

The Doctor took the frame from her, not knowing what to expect. When he looked at the photo he froze. It was Jack Harkness.

“This is the man who's missing from my life,” Claire said softly. “It's funny, really, because I've never even met him. Still I miss him. I hope that you will find Rose.”

“Claire, who...?” the Doctor began.

She took the photo from him and put it back onto the mantel. “It's just... I know what you're going through. Well, maybe not exactly the same, but if you should ever need a sympathetic ear, I'm always here.”

“Claire,” the Doctor started anew, but his mind was reeling. He didn't know what to say, simply because he didn't know what to think.

“I know you must be getting these offers by the dozen these days,” Claire said, crossing her arms in a protective gesture rather than defiance. “But... I... well, never mind. I'm sorry.”

“Claire, I... that's very kind of you... but,” he said, struggling for words. “How did you...? Who is he?”

“My mother gave it to me.”

“He's your father,” the Doctor realised. He was completely baffled, but he also knew that pressing Claire further now would be unbelievably cruel and rude.

“Yes,” Claire said with a sad smile. “It's funny, isn't it? I mean, here I am, an old lady, still looking for my father. Oh dear, John, I hope I haven't made things worse. I'm so... clumsy in that regard sometimes. Please, please, don't ever give up hope on finding Rose.”

“No, I... I know what you mean, and I really appreciate it,” he said. His mind was reeling. Should he tell her that he knew the man in the photograph – her father? Did he know him at all, he wondered, if this was the Jack Harkness of this universe? Or had he travelled between the worlds? Had Claire noticed that he'd recognised him?

He found it hard to meet her eyes, afraid that if he did, she'd see something in his face and press him on it. Also, he now knew why her eyes had seemed so familiar. Claire had her father's blue eyes. “I think I'd better go now. Thank you for this,” he said, gesturing a bit helplessly at the no longer frozen peas and the empty mug.

“I'm sorry,” Claire said, clearly embarrassed. “And thank you. Again.”

“Don't worry. Well...”

He left the house rather quickly, and he took a deep breath once he had pulled the garden gate to behind him. An approaching car nearly hit him as he crossed the street in his hurry to talk to Sophie. He was startled at the sound of screeching tyres and didn't really register the driver's colourful language. When he reached his study and pulled his mobile out of his pocket, he found that his hands were shaking. He had to take a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down and regroup.

Then he dialled.

-:-

Pete joined them in Sophie's office. The Doctor had called ahead, and thanks to Pete's urgent orders, the archivist had quickly found the requested file. Pete dropped it onto Sophie's desk as he settled in one of the two chairs facing her desk. “That's all we've got.”

The Doctor reached for it, but Sophie beat him to it. She quickly scanned the file, flicking through the pages. Then she passed it on to the Doctor. “Here, I guess you'll find what we're looking for more quickly,” she said.

He took the file from her. It held Jack's photo, and told him that he had worked for Torchwood for a while before he went missing in the field in May 1938. “Does the file on that particular mission still exist?” he asked. The whole thing was a bit anticlimactic, really. He'd hoped to find information on Rose, had hoped that maybe he'd be able to get into touch with him. If there was one man who could help him find Rose, it was Jack. But this... he carefully put the file down on Sophie's desk, wouldn't lead anywhere if they couldn't find the case report.

“I'll call Eoin and see what he can find. But this could take a while,” she warned. “The case archive is in a bit of a state, and particularly the early ones, from before the move to Canary Wharf, can be a bit tricky to trace.”

The Doctor nodded. After this first disappointment he tried not to be too optimistic. He didn't want his hopes crushed. At best, he thought, he could expect to find an explanation for Jack's disappearance, and pass that information on to his daughter.

“How is this Jack Harkness linked to Rose?” Pete asked. “Jackie has told me about him. A lot.”

The Doctor snorted. He could imagine Jackie mooning over the dashing American time traveller.

“What I don't understand is how he is... well, is he a parallel Jack? Or is he the same person?”

“He has a Vortex Manipulator; a miniature version of the TARDIS, if you will. A time travelling machine,” the Doctor explained. “But there's no way you can use it to break down the walls between the universes. Not even the TARDIS can do that... well, not without doing a lot of damage. Anyway. Um, no, the Vortex Manipulator doesn't do that.”

“So you think Rose was displaced in time?” Pete asked.

Sophie flushed a deep crimson.

“You haven't told him?” the Doctor asked.

“I...” she said. “I'm sorry, Sir.”

The Doctor sighed, and then filled Pete in on the discoveries they'd made the previous day, and on the hunch he had.

“But there's no proof?” Pete asked.

“No,” Sophie said. “I'm still waiting for the analysis of the readings I took yesterday.”

“And you haven't called and put a bomb under the techs?” Pete asked.

Sophie chewed her lip. “I did. They told me to sod off.”

“You did tell them it was about Rose, didn't you?”

“I did,” Sophie said, “But they mumbled something about another case that took precedence because it's a potential threat, and I... I messed up, didn't I?”

The Doctor took a steadying breath. “No, well...”

“I'll call them,” Pete said, heaving a sigh.

“I'm so sorry,” Sophie almost whimpered.

“Don't,” the Doctor said, his voice cooler than he intended it to be.

-:-

When he got home, he was no closer to an answer than when he'd left. He wanted to hit something in frustration, but then his throbbing hand reminded him of how he'd nearly hurt himself seriously that morning, and he didn't want to go down that particular avenue. The techs at Torchwood had brushed off their boss just as they had Sophie Doyle. Pete, the Father, had been furious, the Doctor could tell that, but in the end Pete, the Director, had been unable to put an employee above a very real, and very dangerous, threat. The Doctor had retreated to his lab and started to put together what he needed for his timey-wimey detector. He had made good progress by the time Pete had come to find him long after supper-time.

“The crisis has been averted,” he'd told him. “Go home now. I'll call you tomorrow as soon as the techs have found something.”

The Doctor stood in the kitchen, at a complete loss as to what to do with himself. He was more or less used to spending evenings and nights alone when Rose was on a mission. But then he always knew that she'd be coming back; he didn't even allow himself to wonder what would happen if she didn't return, or was badly injured.

He hadn't eaten anything in a long time, and although he felt a bit faint, the idea of food did not appeal to him at all. In the end, he picked a banana and an apple from the fruit bowl on the breakfast bar and settled on the sofa in the library. He'd already put all of his books on the shelves, and the boxes with Rose's collection were still lining the empty bookcases. It looked a bit sad, but he didn't dare organise her books. She had a particular system in which she put up her books, and he'd never really understood it. Sighing, he turned around on the sofa so he was facing his own books. There were still empty spaces on the shelves, and he wondered how long those would last. His collection of cookbooks had its own bookcase in the kitchen.

The Willows was a half-place. There was a creepy empty room from which Rose had disappeared, a room that set off his Time Lord sense. Most of the rooms were only half-ready to be lived in because Rose's things were missing, still in their boxes, or because he had no idea how to arrange the furniture. They hadn't agreed on a particular set-up for the rooms; only the kitchen looked what it was supposed to, and their bed occupied the space beneath the canopy of painted leaves as they'd agreed.

Maybe he'd better seek sanctuary in his study, where he'd inevitably lose himself in the preparations for the upcoming semester.

Having finished his banana, he sat listening to the quiet of the Willows. He had yet have to get familiar with the house's noises, the creaks in the woodwork and brushes of the wind over the roof and around the corners. It was completely different from the song of the TARDIS, her constant gentle hum. He'd felt her absence acutely at the beginning, until he'd gotten used to the flat's and the city's noises around him. The realisation that he didn't miss the soothing sounds of his ship any more had thrown him quite a bit. He'd never told Rose about it.

What would it be like if one morning he woke to find he hadn't for one heartbeat noticed the absence of Rose's breathing next to him in their bed? The idea made his stomach turn, and he wished he hadn't had the banana.

The only sound he could ever do without, he knew, was the crackling of energy in Rose's room. He'd closed and locked the door to it. As long as he didn't have his detector he didn't want to set foot inside the room. He simply couldn't. It was completely unlike him, he knew that, but he couldn't bring himself to go inside it. Sophie – or anyone else for that matter – mustn't go in there either, not if they didn't want to risk being whisked away in time too.

The ringing of his phone startled him from his musings. He nearly fell off the sofa as he contorted himself to reach for the phone in his jeans pocket. “Yeah?”

“Doctor?” It was Donna. “Is this a bad time? I'm sorry I hadn't realised how late it is. I'm on duty tonight.”

“No, it's okay,” he said.

“How are you?”

The Doctor sighed. He didn't want to lie to Donna, but neither did he want to tell her about Rose on the phone. “I'm all right.”

“Doesn't sound very much like you,” Donna said.

“Things... have happened, 's all. What can I do for you?”

“Well, there's a conference coming up in London, and I'm standing in for someone. Thing is, I don't have a place to stay – an affordable one, that is, and I was wondering if you had a bed for me at your lovely new place,” Donna explained.

“Always,” he replied without thinking. Having Donna here would be great, and she would understand. He could talk to her – tell her about the things that were not really suitable for Pete and Jackie's ears. “I'll put up our old bed in the new guest room.”

“Oh, please, you don't have to go to all that trouble.”

“Don't worry, it's a good reason to get things done. Life is a bit chaotic at the moment,” he said, biting his lip so he didn't tell her more than was strictly necessary over the phone. “When will you be here?”

Donna chuckled. “Well, here's where it gets embarrassing. Tomorrow night?”

“Oh,” he said, “that's kind of last minute. It's okay. I'm looking forward to it.”

Donna's relief was quite obvious when she thanked him profusely. He was more than happy to have her in the house, even though he knew she'd probably be busy at the conference most of the time. When he rang off, he felt he ought to have told her that Rose had gone missing.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

It was long after midnight when the Doctor rose, stretching, from the chair in his study. The shift of point of view made him wonder how it was possible to inhabit a world that consisted only within the ring of light of his desk lamp. While he'd been working he'd been completely oblivious to everything around him. Rubbing his neck, he smiled. He felt exhausted and stiff, but satisfied with the work he'd done.

The world outside his windows was dark and alive with the sounds of the night. A gentle breeze was playing in the fresh green foliage and drifted, cool, into the room through the open window. He closed the window for the night, switched off his desk lamp and went upstairs.

When he reached the first floor landing, he stopped dead in his tracks. Although he had closed the door to Rose's room, he could feel the crackle of energy swirl inside it. The hairs at the nape of his neck prickled, and he suddenly realised that his heart was thumping.

Something was happening in the room. Something that hadn't happened before.

The whisper of the breeze rose to the whooshing of a gust of wind, followed by a gentle thump and a child-like scream. Then everything went quiet for a few heartbeats.

The Doctor stood stock still, his bad hand resting on the handrail. Why didn't he have his detector? He so wanted to have it to take readings of whatever was happening inside Rose's room.

The silence was broken by a scratching and gentle tapping against the door.

Still, the Doctor didn't dare move. He swallowed, before he asked softly, “Hello?”

A pathetic miaowing answered him.

He guffawed. He let go of the banister and crossed the hall in a few long strides to unlock and open the door. Carefully cracking it open just a little bit to make sure not to hurt the cat sitting behind it, he tried to calm his breathing. A pair of yellow eyes were bright like a set of miniature lanterns as the light from the hall fell into the room in a long rectangle.

The cat had moved, but had frozen in the pool of light, looking expectantly at him. It was black with a single white sock. The Doctor quickly scanned the room, but all the windows were closed. The cat couldn't have gotten in through those, and neither were there any other openings a cat could squeeze through. The flue was closed because the chimney sweep had yet to come and check if the fireplaces in the Willows were still operational.

“How did you get in here, hm?” the Doctor asked, crouching.

The cat didn't move but returned his gaze evenly.

“I think,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “that whatever just went on in here is responsible for your appearance. I think, Cat, that you don't really belong here.”

The cat miaowed, sitting and wrapping its tail around its paws, hiding its single white sock.

“I wish I had my detector,” the Doctor murmured. Then he held out his hand to the animal, palm up at first, but then he turned it, as if reaching for the cat, splaying his fingers to catch as much of the residual energy as possible. The hairs in the nape of his neck bristled again.

The cat had definitely appeared in the sudden burst of energy that had erupted in Rose's room. He recognised the tickling, although it had never been as strong as it was now. Pure and unadulterated were the words that sprung to his mind. It also meant that the energy burst worked both ways. It didn't only take – as it whisked away Rose – it also gave, namely the cat.

“Ha!” he exclaimed triumphantly. Both he and the cat jumped up at the same time, the Doctor in excitement, the cat in alarm. Before the Doctor could turn round, the cat shot past him and ran out of the room and down the stairs.

“Oi! Don't run away! I didn't mean to scare you. Cat!” he cried, following the animal. But no matter how hard he looked for it in the downstairs rooms, he couldn't find it. He needed to find it, desperately. Its appearance had answered a couple of questions, but, as was often the case in such circumstances, it had raised quite a few more. If he wanted to find some answers at least, he needed to find the cat so he could run a few tests.

He found a small dish and filled it with milk. Maybe that would lure the animal out of its hiding place. After he'd deposited the dish in the small hall by the back entrance, he remembered how exhausted he was. He returned upstairs to get ready for bed. He closed all the doors carefully before he curled up in the bed that smelled less and less of Rose with every night that passed.

-:-

When he went to the kitchen the next morning, it was after a night of relaxed sleep. He was ruffling his towel-dried hair, wondering if he was relieved or sad about the fact that he hadn't dreamed of Rose that night. He jumped a little as he caught movement in the corner of his eye as he stepped towards the counter. The black cat had just jumped onto the windowsill of the small bay window. It was making itself comfortable, curling its tail around its feet. It never let him out of its sight.

“Well, hello there,” the Doctor said softly so as not to startle the animal. He crossed the room to check if it had eaten the milk. The dish was licked clean. He picked it up to refill it. This time he placed the dish next to the bookshelf by the door opening on the conservatory.

He made himself breakfast and settled at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and toast. The cat then moved to accept his offering. He needed to get it to Torchwood to run some tests and to find out more. The fact that it had appeared in Rose's room changed things quite a bit. It meant that whatever had stolen Rose had also given him the cat.

How, though, would he get the cat to Torchwood? He didn't have a carrier basket for it, and he doubted he could just make it hop into the car like a dog and settle down for the ride. Maybe if he put an old towel in a box that would afford it the comfort it needed?

He watched the cat return to its seat by the window and wash after it had finished the milk. Then he got up to prepare the box for it. Strangely enough, it was curious as to what he was doing, and it watched him closely from its perch on the windowsill as he cushioned a box with an old towel.

“Now,” he murmured. “How do I get you in there?”

He approached the cat, holding out his hand. The cat briefly sniffed it before it pushed its head against the backs of his fingers. The Doctor certainly hadn't expected that, not after he'd upset it so the previous night. He stroked it in long, even movements before he dared pick it up. The cat didn't stop him as he carried it to the table and gently put it down in the box.

It just sat, looking up at him expectantly.

“Now you're just creeping me out,” he muttered, chuckling.

He put the box into the footwell of their car. The cat stayed there during the ride, and by the time he arrived at Torchwood, it had fallen asleep. He went straight to his lab where he put the box on the counter. The cat was still asleep, a black bundle of fur curled up on the pale blue towel.

“What now?” the Doctor wondered. His detector wasn't finished yet, and he was more than eager to find out if the cat still carried remnants of the energy that had transported it to Rose's room. He picked up the phone and dialled Sophie's extension.

“Yeah?” she asked, sounding not half annoyed.

“I'm in the lab. Could you come and bring your scanner? I might have found something,” he said without preamble.

“Doctor?” Sophie asked. “This is really not a very good time.”

“Oh, but this is really important,” the Doctor insisted and went on to fill her in on the past night's events.

“I'm afraid you'll have to wait,” Sophie replied calmly. “I'm in the middle of something. I'll be down in your lab as soon as possible.” She rang off. The Doctor stared at the receiver in surprise for a couple of seconds before returning it to the cradle.

When he checked on the cat, he found its box was empty.

“Brilliant,” he mumbled.

Sighing, he poured some milk from the small fridge in his lab onto a saucer and set it out for the cat. If there was one thing he'd learned the previous night it was that the cat found good hiding places if it didn't want to be found.

Taking out his glasses, he returned to working on his detector. Now that he knew whatever was going on in Rose's room worked both ways he needed to know when the tear in the fabric of space and time was opening more than ever. Before he'd left the Willows, he'd once more locked Rose's room. The idea that something other but a cat might come through the tear was more than a little unsettling. The Willows felt scarier than ever.

He loved the house. It set off his timey-wimey sense and challenged him, but it had also taken Rose and now threw even more mysteries at him. It occurred to him that he would have to check Donna's room for any anomalies before setting her up in the biggest of the bedrooms on the second floor. He couldn't lose her too.

“Doctor?”

Eoin's voice roused him from his tinkering. He'd completely forgotten about the file he'd asked for the day before. The Doctor whirled around, looking at the older man. Eoin wore a dark jumper and jeans, and what remained of his salt and pepper hair was closely cropped. He had a friendly face, but his expression wasn't too promising. Eoin shrugged apologetically.

“I'm sorry, Doctor, I haven't been able to find the file you requested yet,” he said.

“Oh.”

“But I'll keep looking. It has to be somewhere. I understand it'll help you find Rose?” Eoin asked.

“Probably, yeah,” the Doctor said, taking off his glasses and running his hand over his face.

“I was just wondering,” Eoin continued, “if you'd like me to hunt down anything related to the file. Like the personnel files of the other agents assigned to the case. Stuff like that.”

That certainly couldn't hurt, although the Doctor was pretty sure that it wouldn't get him very far. “Sounds like a good idea,” he said. “Thank you.”

Eoin sighed. “Looking for this made me realise how disorganized the older files are. This has given me the opportunity to try to figure out how my predecessors worked and come up with a way to make things more accessible.”

The Doctor's lips formed a thin line as he smiled.

“Where would you like me to send the files if... when I find them? You won't be coming in every day now that Rose is... away?”

“No, I guess I won't,” the Doctor said softly. “Could you send it to our place?”

Eoin nodded, and just as he turned to leave, he added, “You might want to refill that saucer. Your little friend looks hungry.”

“What?”

Eoin gestured towards the sink, where the Doctor had put the saucer earlier. The cat was licking it clean.

“Oh yeah,” the Doctor said, grinning. “There you are.”

“What's its name?”

The Doctor blinked. “It doesn't have a name.”

“Well, isn't it yours?”

“No it...” the Doctor rubbed the back of his neck, “it appeared out of thin air. Just like Rose vanished.”

“Oh, I'd wondered why you'd bring it here. Good luck with your search,” Eoin said and left.

The Doctor refilled the saucer and put the cat's box next to the sink so it had a nice spot in which to curl up before he returned his attention to the detector. He was making good progress, but it couldn't be fast enough.

Еventually he realized the he was having a hard time concentrating and that his hands were shaky. He leaned against the counter, braced on his hands, exhaling. He felt faint with hunger, and when he checked his watch he realised that it was little wonder. It was long past lunchtime. The cat had curled up in its box and was sleeping. He wasn't sure if this was a particularly lazy animal – how long did cats sleep? He'd have to find out about that – or the journey through the tear was particularly exhausting. Had Rose been sleepy too?

He rang Sophie once again but was put through to her voicemail. He put the receiver down with exaggerated care. This was infuriating. Sophie wasn't being particularly helpful, and he wondered if she actually cared about Project GRoB.

“Don't worry,” she said. When the Doctor whirled around, startled, he found her standing in the door. “I haven't forgotten about you. Or Rose. I've just been incredibly busy this morning.”

“Yeah,” he said, taking off his glasses.

“Is that your detector?” Sophie asked, entering the lab to look at the small device he'd been working on. It looked like one of the more adventurous projects of a schoolboy, with a little dish planted on the haphazardly piled and wired components.

“I'm almost done,” he said, gesturing at it.

“Where's Cat then?” Sophie asked, pulling her chic detector from her pocket.

The Doctor pointed at the sink where they went to crouch. Sophie ran the scanner over the cat. It woke in the process, probably sensing their presence, and looked hard at both of them. When it stirred, the Doctor picked it up to keep it still for Sophie to complete the scan. It was trembling a little and pressed itself closer to his body. He made some shushing noises and began to stroke it.

“He likes you,” Sophie observed, staring intently at the display of her scanner.

“You think? How do you know it's a boy?”

Sophie gave him a long-suffering look, then held the scanner so he could peek at the display. He had to squint a little without his glasses on. “Right. So. Apart from knowing he's a perfectly healthy tom cat, what else can you tell me about him? Tell me the energy signature is the same as the residual traces we've picked up after Rose's disappearance.”

“The energy signature is the same as the residual traces we've picked up after Rose's disappearance,” Sophie replied gamely.

The Doctor's eyebrows rose. “Oh.”

“Yes, and I've got the results from the tech team too,” Sophie said. “Shall we have a look at them?”

He settled on the stool Rose usually occupied when she came to pick him up, still holding and caressing Cat. The tech team hadn't been able to find out much, even when they'd run the energy readings through the database. The readings looked familiar enough to those he knew to be the Weeping Angels', but they were a little off. “Something's not quite right.”

“How do you mean?” Sophie asked, reaching out to scratch Cat's chin.

He pointed at a particular spike in the print-out she'd spread on the counter. “This whole graph looks awfully familiar, apart from this spike,” the Doctor said before telling her about the Weeping Angels. “How far back does the database go?”

Sophie pursed her lips. “The 1960s, I guess. But there was nothing.”

The Doctor hummed. “Maybe we need to go further back.”

“Yeah, but you'd be searching for the proverbial needle,” she replied.

“Within the cases that were never solved,” he said. And then he had a brainwave. “Or... maybe if we looked for cases related to the Willows we'd find something.”

“The Willows?”

“It's what I call our house, 23 Florence Gardens. D'you think we could search the database for locations?”

“Yes, of course!” Sophie said, sliding from her stool. She took Cat from the Doctor so he could grab his glasses and access the computer. His search produced a list of six items, all of which were related to missing persons' inquiries of the Met at the Willows. But the list didn't include Rose, and it only went as far back as 1956.

The Doctor slumped a little in his seat.

“It was worth a try,” Sophie said softly. “You could always check the energy signatures for those cases. If they are available at all, that is. And then you could go further back. See if there were cases before.”

He nodded dejectedly. This new discovery meant searching the archive in the old-fashioned way. Eoin's visit, however, hadn't been really encouraging. How was he supposed to find anything if even the archivist didn't know where to start looking?

His stomach chose that particular moment to rumble quite loudly.

“I'll go and see Eoin to update him,” Sophie suggested. “You go and eat something. You might want to pick up some food for Cat too. He looks a bit peckish.”

“He's not my cat,” the Doctor protested.

“Seems to me he is now,” she replied, “unless, of course, you can get him to tell you where he's from.”

“Or when,” the Doctor added.

-:-

Having fed both himself and Cat, the Doctor checked the spare bedroom for unusual activity with his scanner before he began to reassemble Rose's old bed. This proved a bit tricky on his own, but after a while the bed looked like a bed. He stripped Tony's outer space linens from and replaced them with a set of dark blue ones. He found a spare lamp and stool as a make-shift bedside table, and aired out the closet. They would have to share the bathroom on the first floor because the upstairs one wasn't quite finished yet.

He set up his detector in Rose's room after he had connected it to a babyphone he'd picked up on his way home. That way he could monitor the room through the closed and locked door. Who knew what else might come through that tear in space and time.

Cat, he noticed, stayed downstairs all the time. When he picked him up to take him upstairs, Cat began to tremble and hiss and spit and only calmed down in front of his generous helping of cat food in the kitchen.

“Just as well then,” the Doctor mumbled, putting on the kettle. “At least we won't have to worry about you sneaking upstairs and annexing our bed.”

The kettle had just clicked off when the ancient doorbell announced a visitor. Donna.

Relief and trepidation washed through the Doctor.

Donna hugged him closely as he opened the door for her. They hadn't seen each other in a while; their schedules and the geographical distance between their homes were just too difficult to overcome sometimes. If Donna sensed that something wasn't quite right she didn't let it on at once.

After a quick tour of the house – which she loved – and depositing her bag in the spare bedroom, the Doctor put on some fresh water for their tea.

Donna was settled at the kitchen table, telling him about the conference. She had to give her talk first thing in the morning and was grateful for not having to get up at an ungodly hour. It was when he sat down across from her with their tea that she said, “You look... a bit like the first time I saw you. Not quite as much as the little lost boy, but... I hope you don't mind my saying that.”

The Doctor sighed, and while he was searching for the right words – all this time of preparation for this moment, and he'd been unable to come up something – when Cat strolled into the kitchen. The Doctor had left the conservatory door open so Cat could come and go as he pleased.

“Oh,” Donna said.

“That's Cat.”

“I didn't have you down as a cat person,” Donna said. “Very creative name.”

“Well... he's a stray. Us strays have to stick together,” the Doctor replied with a lopsided grin. “You aren't allergic, are you? Don't worry, he doesn't go upstairs.” Cat jumped onto the Doctor's lap where he curled up and demanded to be stroked. He found the warm weight of the cat in his lap quite comforting, and the regularity of stroking his soft fur soothing.

“He's quite... friendly. For a stray.”

“Well...”

“How are you, Doctor?”

“I'm... quite all right.”

Donna's eyes narrowed.

“Promise you won't be angry with me?” the Doctor said after a fortifying sip of his tea.

“Depends on what it is you have to tell me,” Donna replied warily.

“Let me tell you about Cat,” the Doctor began.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Dreams of falling usually started at the top of a flight of stairs, the kind that is only made of grating. She could see more flights of stairs between her feet, endless, twisting and turning and jutting like in an Escher drawing, far below her.

Rose Tyler was afraid of heights. The fear of falling filled her dreams, and usually she fell and was lost. She fell and woke because her mind tricked her into thinking and feeling she hit the bed after a fall. It was the oddest sensation, and she didn't have the dream often.

She'd open her eyes, startled, and exhale in relief when she realised it had only been a dream. She'd have that dream before tests at school.

That was before she had started travelling with the Doctor.

The dreams of falling changed after she'd nearly fallen into the Void and Pete had appeared out of thin air to grab her and save her life, only to take her to his world and kill her after all. In a manner of speaking. Since then, she didn't dream of falling from great heights but of falling into the Void. She'd still wake as her body jerked awake and tricked her mind into thinking it had hit the mattress. But it was always accompanied by an ear-splitting scream and stinging eyes. The feeling of loss was just too overwhelming.

Rose's eyes flew open. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye as her heart was hammering frantically against her ribs. The lumpy shapes and shadows of the room were unfamiliar in the ambient light. For a brief moment she felt disoriented and it took her a beat or two to remember where she was.

“Rose?”

She froze, then relaxed, a bit embarrassed, when she recalled that she was sharing her Munich hotel room with Mo.

“I'm all right,” she mumbled. “'s just a silly dream.”

“You scared me,” Mo said, her voice full of concern.

“'m sorry. Go back to sleep,” Rose whispered.

She hadn't had the dream in a long time. Little wonder it was so overpowering. Rose pushed herself up and reached for the glass of water on her bedside table. When she checked her watch she saw that it was too early yet to get up and go for a walk. Sighing, she lay down and tried to go back to sleep.

-:-

She stole out of the hotel shortly after five. She'd spent the hours since the dream tossing and turning, dozing off frequently enough but only for a few minutes at a time which were filled with the weirdest images. Eventually, she gave up.

Marienplatz was mostly empty at that early hour, and only dimly lit. A web of overhead cables criss-crossed the entire square to feed the various tram lines servicing this central place. The city was definitely more quiet in 1938 than it was in 2009, when she'd been there last. Rose shivered and rubbed her arms. She had a good sense of orientation but that was only so good if the landmarks were different, and they definitely were. Looking back at the hotel she wondered if it was a good idea to go wandering off. Then again, the hotel was on the most famous square. Surely, she'd find her way back, even in daylight.

Rose ended up sitting on the steps leading up to the loggia dominating Odeonsplatz. She laughed briefly, remembering that she'd read somewhere that it had been inspired by the Loggia dei'Lanzi in Florence. She'd admired the sculptures housed there with the Doctor. The Munich loggia was mostly empty. There were a couple of broken and damaged statues that weren't good enough for a museum, and the stairs were flanked by a pair of the ubiquitous Bavarian lions.

In Florence, she had looked for the Doctor. Now it was the other way round, and unless the Doctor found her letter and the photos, he didn't have any idea of where to look for her. Or when, for that matter. Rose dropped her forehead on her knees, which she'd drawn up against the morning chill.

If only she knew he'd find her messages. They certainly hadn't found anything while they'd been working at the Willows. What if some former occupant had come across them and thrown them away? Had maybe frowned or sighed over the contents of the letter? It had been a crap idea, she thought bitterly. Like he'd ever get that letter. Still, writing it had been a soothing experience. If only she knew they'd reach him, she'd send the Doctor a dozen postcards a day.

At least then he'd know it was an accident. She didn't want to imagine him thinking she'd left him after all, despite everything. Maybe sending him a postcard couldn't hurt. Maybe if she sent it to Torchwood they'd pass it on to him when it was time. Surely, Jack could arrange for a file to be passed on to the Doctor on a specified date, preferably shortly after the accident.

The accident that had felt like falling. No wonder she'd had that dream. When the... thing had opened up in her room and swallowed her up, she'd felt like falling. It was a bit like the tractor beam with which Jack had saved her during the air raid in London. Only this time she'd landed on her feet, like a cat, rather than in the arms of a dashing American from the 51st century.

She rested her chin in the groove between her knees. If she didn't find a way back to her own time she'd have to get there on the slow path. Maybe, if she was really lucky, she'd get old enough to meet the Doctor in 2010. She'd be in her mid-nineties by then. A little old lady with silver hair neatly coiled at the back of her neck, wrinkled like an apple in spring, a little hard of hearing and stooped with a cane. The Doctor would be his old self, and maybe even recognise her eyes.

They'd not grow old together. He'd outlive her, just like the Other would have. She'd break his heart all the same, all over again.

“Ham's Eahna valaffa, Freilein?”

Rose looked up. A pair of policemen had stopped in front of her. Behind them, just above the wall separating the street from a garden, the sun was tinting the sky pink and green as it rose. “Nein,” she replied. “Ich... in Ordnung.” She stood and brushed her bottom down.

“Wiara Gewerbliche schaugt's je'nfois net aus,” murmured the shorter of the officers.

“Tourist?” asked the other one.

“Ja, tourist,” Rose replied.

The shorter officer repeated his first question as if talking to a child.

Rose smiled at him. “I'm really all right.”

“Wos had's g'sagt?”

“Wuascht, wead scho bass'n,” the taller one said. He tipped his hat and off they were.

Rose decided to retrace her steps to the hotel for some breakfast. While she had needed to get a moment for herself to think she didn't want to scare the others. By the time she reached the hotel it was seven, and the breakfast room was just opening for the first patrons. The hotel provided its English-speaking guests with a two-day old copy of The Times. Rose skimmed and scanned the paper, sipping her cup of coffee – a good, strong brew from a local deli the waitress assured her – and waiting for the others to join her. The paper was only of marginal interest to her because she wasn't familiar enough with this period in order to appreciate what was going on. So she just browsed it to pick up anything that might be worth knowing.

Mo was the first of the team to join her.

“Enjoy your walk?” she asked as she settled down at the table and reached for the part of the newspaper Rose had discarded.

“Yeah,” Rose said. “I'm sorry if I woke you.”

“Nah, that's all right. How are you holding up?”

Rose shrugged. “Frankly, I think I'd be happier back in London. Having come here feels like having put even more distance between us.”

The waitress arrived and put down a pot of coffee for Mo. When she had left, Mo said, “I see. Do you reckon he's found your letter by now? So he knows where he's supposed to be looking?”

“I hope so,” Rose said softly. “But what if he hasn't?”

Mo reached out to cover her hand with hers. “Then he won't know where to look at all, and it might be a good idea that you've come after all. It's better than sitting around, doing nothing and driving yourself spare, yeah? Maybe we're on to something here.”

Mo let go of her hand. Rose drained her cup and poured the remaining coffee from her own pot. She'd need all the caffeine she could get to make it through the day. That, and Mo's confidence.

“Good morning, ladies!” Jack said as he sat down with a flourish and helped himself to some of Mo's coffee.

“Hey Jack,” Rose said, slipping on a smile. “What's the plan for today?” Mo winked at her.

“We'll meet Agnes later today. In the meantime, we'll have a look at the south-west corner of the New Town Hall. Try to collect as much data as possible.”

Rose sighed. It wasn't much, and she sighed as she cut her roll in half. “Jack, do you think you could do me a favour?”

“Anything, Rosie,” Jack said, smiling, but his eyes were serious.

“I'd like to leave John a message. Could you make sure that Torchwood delivers it to him on a specified date? I'd just like to make sure he...”

“Of course,” Jack replied. “Do you want me to send it to him even after you've returned home?”

Why was it that everyone was more confident than her? It was totally unlike her not to believe that everything would turn out well. What was wrong with her?

“Yes. I don't want him to worry about me too much.”

Jack nodded. “I'll put it together as soon as we're back in London.”

-:-

They stood staring up the south-west corner of the New Town Hall. The building looked Gothic, but it wasn't a hundred years old yet. In the shadow of the colonnades was a collection of small shops, and the light grey façade above them was dominated by turrets and the central tower. The balcony as well as most of the windows were adorned by boxes of red geraniums. The corner in question was sculpted by a short tower that jutted out from the first floor. Underneath it a stone dragon was climbing up the façade towards a crowd of stone figures running away in fear or braving the beast with lances and a cannon.

“Lovely,” Nick commented drily, then he opened the leather bag he'd slung over his shoulder and produced a device that looked vaguely like a camera.

“I'll go and see if there's something similar on the other corner,” Mo said, and off she went.

“Right,” Jack said, flipping open the cover of his Vortex Manipulator. “Rosie, why don't you take a couple of photos?”

Rose took the real camera and started to methodically take pictures of the south-west corner of the building. Once the photos were developed, they could piece the picture together and see more details than they would if she took just one photo of the entire corner. They had discovered a photo shop the previous day, when they'd walked down Kaufinger Strasse, that time without their luggage. Nick had gone in and asked how long they'd have to wait for the films to be developed and the prints made. The owner had promised them to have them finished before supper if they brought the films in early in the morning.

“Don't we have another camera?” Rose asked, stepping up behind Jack.

“Yes,” he said. “Do you want to give it a try?”

“Depends on how much damage I can do with it. I'm not used to... your technology.”

“You mean ancient,” he said.

Rose studied the caps of her trainers. “Well, yes. No offence.”

“None taken,” Jack said. “Took me a while to get used to it too. Still haven't, mostly, that's why I only use this.” He patted his Vortex Manipulator.

“I thought it was broken.”

“Well, that's just the time travelling function,” he said. “The rest works fine. Nathan is really good at his job.”

“Have you... what's it like being stuck?” Rose asked.

“You get used to it.”

“Don't you have... isn't there anyone...”

“I have Estelle now.”

Rose blushed. “Right, I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Six years.”

She nodded, unable to say anything. Six years. That was three times the time she'd had to wait to find her way back to the Doctor. And then there'd been hope, whereas this time she had to admit she felt quite helpless and anything but hopeful. “If you found a way back, would you go?”

Before Jack could reply, Nick interrupted them with a question, and Mo also chose that moment to return. She'd popped into the café where they'd had breakfast the day before and brought back a bag of pastries. “Sorry, I couldn't resist,” she said with a lopsided grin.

-:-

While Nick took the film to the photographer's shop to have Rose's photos developed, the other three set up shop in the men's hotel room. It was a bit more spacious than Rose and Mo's. They worked on analysing the data they had gathered across the square. The whole thing had been far more innocuous than any other intelligence gathering operation Rose had ever witnessed, and she wondered for a moment if that was all they were going to do when Jack announced that they'd go back the next morning at the crack of dawn to collect more data. They'd also get a chance to get inside the New Town Hall and run their readings again since it was a Saturday and no one would interrupt them and vice versa.

By the time Nick returned they had set up all of their equipment. He and Mo started to work immediately, and soon were so engrossed in their data and machinery that Rose decided to go back to her room for a nap.

“Rose?” Mo's hand was resting lightly on her shoulder. “Rose?”

“What time is it?” She sat up, feeling groggy rather than refreshed, blinking into the sunlit room.

“Shortly after four,” Mo said, amused. “Feeling better?”

“Dunno,” Rose said, brushing back her hair. “'m not awake yet.”

“We're having a cuppa in the garden. There's something we need to show you. And we were hoping you could help us with it.”

Rose was wide awake at once. “Did you find something?”

Mo smiled her lopsided smile. “We might have, yes.”

Rose slipped on her blouse and trousers and decided to tie the laces of her trainers once she was downstairs in the garden. Nick and Jack were waiting for them already, and Jack poured them coffee as they settled down in the shade of an old chestnut tree. Nick pushed a sheaf of papers towards her. It was covered in the worst handwriting she'd ever seen, and as she started to read it she had to stop every so often to ask Nick for help. Jack and Mo sipped their coffee in silence, patiently waiting for her to finish reading.

Rose's heart began to thump as she read. A couple of times she had to go back and reread a paragraph to make sure she had read correctly. When she was excited or hoping to read something that would help her with the case she'd occasionally misread things so they fit her expectations. She didn't want that to happen now so she slowed herself down.

“I'll summarize the report,” Rose said, sipping her coffee, “And please tell me if I'm wrong.”

Jack's blue eyes sparkled. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Rose looked at the sheets again for confirmation. “Well, there were traces of my old Chronon particles at the south-west corner. They'd been there since before my arrival in Munich. Actually, they'd been there since my arrival in 1938.”

“Yep,” Nick said.

“Go on!” Mo urged her. She seemed as excited as a child on Christmas Day.

“That means that whatever it is about the south-west corner is definitely linked to me. And there was also some other kind of particle – whose name I have forgotten–”

“Temporal Displacement Particles,” Mo said.

“Those, yeah,” Rose continued, “That attach themselves to people when they travel through a tear in the fabric of time. They are, apparently, unique, like a fingerprint.”

“And your fingerprints, Rosie,” Jack said, “Are all over the place. In London as well as here.”

“Yeah, but we knew that, didn't we?”

“We did, but,” Jack went on, “We also know that they carry the same mark-up as the energy spike. We went back to that corner while you were napping to scan it again. This time we knew what we were looking for, and we came up with the energy source.”

“Me.”

“Exactly!” Nick said.

“Does that mean I can travel in time, just like that?”

-:-

Author's Notes: The conversation Rose has with the two policemen is as follows (I couldn't resist writing in my native dialect):

“Are you lost, Miss?” – “No, I'm all right.” – “She doesn't look like a hooker, at any rate.” – “Tourist?” – “Yes, I'm a tourist.” – “What did she say?” – “Never mind, guess she's all right.”


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The sounds of Donna preparing more tea for them filled the uneasy silence that had descended upon the kitchen after the Doctor finished his tale of Cat. Its protagonist was still curled up in his lap purring softly at his ministrations. The Doctor sat with his back to the counter and he didn't dare turn around to see how Donna was faring. Her actions sounded measured and calm as she prepared their tea and fixed them some sandwiches. Still, he found her prolonged silence unnerving. He had never seen her like that. His Donna would have exploded at a revelation like this, and he was once again reminded of how slightly different everyone was in this strange new universe.

“Say something,” he eventually murmured. His voice sounded unusually loud in the room.

He heard the soft clatter of the knife on the counter top as Donna put it down. She exhaled carefully before she replied, and he wondered if she was about to bite his head off for not telling her.

“You two,” she began, “Aren't made for simply living together, are you.”

The Doctor stopped caressing Cat. “What?”

“Don't get me wrong, Doctor,” Donna said. “I'm... so sorry for what happened. I really am, and I'm furious, and disappointed as well, that you didn't pick up the phone and let me know when it happened. But then again, maybe I'm not... among those who'd need to know about something like that.”

Although he had been prepared for her lashing out his heart sank. Her quiet statement, her disappointment, were worse than any verbal outbreak she could have unleashed on him. “No, Donna, I... I am so... I still don't understand what's happened.”

He finally turned around in his seat when he heard Donna returning to the table. She put a mug and a triple-decker sandwich in front of him. He was surprised at the sadness in her expression, and another pang of guilt shot through him.

“Don't worry,” she said, “I'm here now, aren't I? If you'd... want me to help, that is. I think I'm quite good at finding people.” She was actually smiling at her last words. “Now eat, you skinny thing.”

The Doctor guffawed with relief. “Thank you, Donna.”

After Donna had settled across from him once more, her own supper in front of her, she said, “I know a thing or two about what people like you are going through. I mean, not that losing someone to God knows where is comparable to... well, actually, it is. Relatives who come to see me about their loved ones often feel just as lost and helpless.”

“But there really isn't any excuse,” the Doctor protested. “You're the closest to family I have here.”

Donna smiled gently at the statement. It had taken them a while to discuss the nature of their relationship. The Doctor felt closer to Donna than he knew he should because technically she wasn't the same woman who had helped create him, and yet she was, despite all the small things that made her so different from his Donna. She had eventually accepted that, but had declined his offer of sharing his Donna's memories with her other than by listening to his stories. She was trying hard to make this weird relationship work, to understand its dynamics, and then he'd gone and excluded her when he really needed her, when she'd have had a chance to get to know him a little better. Maybe that was just because it was a little bit too close to the events in Florence.

“Let's not dwell on that now,” Donna said. “Tell me what you've done so far, any ideas you may have about where she may be. Maybe I can help. Fresh pair of eyes and all.”

He smiled, grateful for her readiness to forgive. He suddenly felt much calmer as he began detailing what he and Sophie had found so far and what was still in process. Nothing new came out of it really, but he felt a great sense of relief and not a little bit of hope that a new set of eyes might bring new ideas, new insights. Someone who, indeed, came with a fresh pair of eyes and new ideas and insights.

By the time he had finished his tale and answered all of Donna's questions, she had organised all the information they had in a diagram on a huge sheet of packing paper. The Doctor slipped on his glasses to go through it. He wasn't used to solving problems like this, but he had to admit that Donna's method helped him clear his mind.

“Maybe I should go back and check the energy readings of the previous disappearances after all,” he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. He was unbelievably tired.

“I have a hunch that they will be the same as Rose's and Cat's,” Donna said, “But it'd be good to know. Maybe you could work on finding out what that unusual bit in the energy spike is all about. There's nothing much else you can do while you're waiting for Eoin to find those files for you.”

He yawned. “Sorry. I guess you're right.”

Donna smiled. “It's late. Maybe we should go to bed.”

“Yeah. Thank you, Donna. It's so good having you here. I'm sorry for not telling you earlier.”

-:-

The following morning, just after Donna had left for her lecture, the Doctor's world collapsed about him again.

He'd had a comfortable night, and he felt optimistic – like his old self, really – and inspired. Before settling down at his desk to work on the quirky energy spike he decided to expend some of his excess energy by arranging the furniture in the parlour. He knew that she wanted to turn the bay window into a comfortable nook for them to curl up together. If Rose didn't like the arrangement they could always redo it. But for now he felt the need to make the room more usable.

The best place for the sofa was facing the beautiful fireplace. It was surrounded by black marble, and its mantelpiece was so narrow that it wouldn't hold her collection of picture frames. Rose had regretted that for about a minute before she'd decided she'd rather the pictures were in the library and in her room.

Her room. The Doctor squared his jaw as he pushed the sofa into a position he liked. The babyphone had been silent, and he'd learned that its occasional crackle was just static and nothing to get excited about. He took the receiver wherever he went in the house, and stood still from time to time to listen, but it remained mostly silent.

He'd have to find a way of making her room safe to be lived in. But he couldn't do that without finding out what was going on first. He slumped onto the sofa and buried his toes in the thick pile of the rug. It was a lovely shade of blue and suited the cream coloured upholstery of the sofa beautifully. Above him, the crystal balls of the magical chandelier broke the sunlight flooding the room and showered the walls with its colourful spots of light. He was very grateful to Jackie and Pete for having bought it for Rose after all. It was one of the things that made the Willows so wonderful.

The wall above the fireplace was very white. He hated it. Right now, it wasn't soothing or reassuring like Rose had explained. It was mocking him. He'd either have to paint it, or they'd have to find a huge picture to go up in the spot to fill the emptiness.

The Doctor jumped when the doorbell announced a visitor. It was someone who had never been to the Willows before because they were using the front door instead of the back door by the kitchen. Maybe it was Eoin with the files. He opened the door to find out who his visitor was.

It was Samuel Williamson.

“Good morning, Professor,” Mr Williamson said. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything?”

“Not at all,” the Doctor said. “Please, do come in.”

He preceded Mr Williamson into the kitchen. “I'm afraid this is the only presentable room in the house.”

“It's very nice,” his guest replied, taking in the modern design of the kitchen cabinets in combination with the old-fashioned range; Rose had discovered a shop that custom-built modern appliances into old ranges. The oven and stove looked a hundred years old, but it was actually state-of-the-art technology. The day it had been put in he'd been unable to stop grinning. He was very proud of it and eager to try it out properly.

Once they were seated at the table with a mug of tea before each of them, the Doctor asked Mr Williamson what he could do for him.

“I was hoping to find either you or Miss Tyler,” he began. “I've tried to call Miss Tyler several times, but she doesn't ever answer her phone. I'm sorry to intrude on you like that.”

The Doctor swallowed. “She's misplaced her charger. It must be somewhere in this chaos. I'm afraid she's away on business.”

“Actually, it's you I have something for, Professor,” Mr Williamson said. “Fred, Ruth and I have started going through Hen's things, and we have found an envelope for you among her important papers. You know, the kind of papers people our age like to keep in an easily accessible place for when... you know.”

The Doctor nodded. “A letter for me?”

Mr Williamson held up his hands in a gesture that made it clear that he was as bewildered as the Doctor. “I know, it's very confusing. But let me assure you that Hen was very healthy before she... left us. She was a very clever woman. I trust her, but I cannot even begin to explain how she knew you when you say that neither you nor Miss Tyler have ever met her before.”

A shiver went through the Doctor at his words. He'd never stopped to think about Hen after Rose's disappearance, but he knew that Rose and Hen couldn't be the same person – except, of course, they were up against some kind of paradoxical trickery that made it possible after all. He was fairly certain it couldn't be, that it was simply impossible. But then again, he'd been proven wrong before. If Rose and Hen were the same person – and they weren't, they'd seen Hen's Torchwood file (but it was Torchwood!) – then... then...

“Are you all right, Professor? You're as white as a sheet,” Mr Williamson said.

The Doctor looked at the man seated across from him. There were several things he wanted to say, and something he should say, but his mouth wouldn't obey him. He merely nodded.

“Is there anything I can do?”

He shook his head. “No,” he croaked. “I'm all right.”

Mr Williamson produced an envelope from the inside breast pocket of his jacket and laid it onto the table between them. It was expensive stationery, but the handwriting on it, addressing the letter to John Noble, was not Rose's handwriting. The Doctor exhaled slowly before picking the letter up. He managed a smile. Rose could have affected a different handwriting. He had an idea why she might want to do something like that, but he couldn't share it with a stranger.

Mr Williamson seemed to sense his uneasiness, and for a couple of moments he was clearly debating his next words. “There is more, Professor,” he said eventually. “I have a suitcase in the car. She instructed us to give it to you, along with this letter, if she didn't live to be able to do it herself. The instructions came with a date, but I'm afraid we're a couple of days late. I hope you don't mind.”

The Doctor looked at him wide-eyed. A suitcase? With instructions for delivery?

“Well, I'd better get going,” Mr Williamson said, standing. “Will you tell us? If you find out how Hen knew you and Miss Tyler?”

The Doctor nodded. “Yeah, I will. We will.”

Mr Williamson smiled at him and gave him a note with his address and phone number scribbled on. The Doctor stood as well and accepted the note, but he didn't, couldn't move.

“The suitcase?” Mr Williamson said.

“Oh yes, I'll get that,” the Doctor said, glad for the chance to do something, to distract himself for a while from the turmoil that was his mind at that moment.

The suitcase was small and light, an old-fashioned, brown model with metal fittings and locks that required a key. It looked hardly used, and undoubtedly had been given a proper dusting when it was excavated from wherever it'd been buried among Henrietta's possessions. Mr Williamson gave the Doctor the smallish key before he got into his car and drove off.

When he put the suitcase on his desk, the Doctor noticed that his hands were shaking a bit. Maybe he should read the letter first, to be prepared for the secrets the suitcase held. The letter was three pages long and had clearly been written with great care in blue ink. He slipped on his glasses. The date on the letter read January 2010.

Cat chose that moment to join him in his room, examined the suitcase briefly before jumping onto the Doctor's lap. He leaned back in his chair and, stroking the cat with one hand, began to read Henrietta's words.

Dear John,

Please forgive the familiar form of address. Although we have never met, I feel I know you quite well. I’m sure that much of what I think I know is nothing more than my imagination building upon the kinds of information one gets these days from the media. Don’t be alarmed. I’m not a 'fan’ or one of those horrible stalkers that make famous peoples’ lives a misery. I’ll admit that I’ve been following the reports, and I’m sure you’ve had people tell you that they’re not that kind of fan, so you have no reason to believe when I say I’m not. But I hope that you will.

I don't know you personally, but I have met Rose. She has probably told you that she hasn't, and she wasn't lying. I can also assure you that she and I are not the same person – she mentioned once that's what you might think. With a story like yours, it's hardly strange, and I completely understand. We Torchwood people tend to be a bit paranoid at times. But it's really much simpler than that. I can assure you that I have no sinister powers and am not plotting anything. Forgive me, I'm rambling. I didn't use to do that. Rose doesn't know me like this.

When Rose disappeared from her room in the Willows she turned up in the street outside number 23, but in 1938. I don't want to go into great detail when I tell you the story, because I'm sure she'll want to tell you herself when she returns. Also, so much time has passed since then, and I'm afraid my memory doesn't serve me as well as it used to. I don't want to fill in gaps in my memory with my imagination.

Rose met Estelle Cole, who was the fiancée of Jack Harkness, the head of Torchwood at the time. I worked for him, and when Rose turned up we tried to help her find a way back to you. That is how I know you. Rose told me about you, and how hard you've fought to build this new life. She loves you so much, John. And she missed you terribly. It was heartbreaking to see her, and I'm afraid I was unable to console her.

I suggested she leave you a message and photos at the Willows so you'd find them and know she was all right. We hid those papers, but upon our return from Munich I went back to the Willows and removed them. I thought it'd be better if I had them delivered to you after her disappearance, together with some other things, which you'll find in the suitcase that comes with this letter. Back then, I had no idea what would become of the Willows, and those messages are very important.

We went to Munich, Jack, Rose and I, to follow the energy signature that was connected to her appearance. We were able to find out what it was – Rose said something about Weeping Angels, some form of which you, John, must have encountered during your travels. Only the Weeping Angels of this universe are a bit different from your original universe – it's quite hard to grasp, the concept of parallel universes. After all these years, I still don't understood them, despite everything I've seen during my years of working with Torchwood. I'm sure you'll have found out by now that the Weeping Angels work in both directions in this universe – only they're technically not angels but dragons, but let's not get into that.

The Weeping Angel responsible for Rose's displacement in time will send Rose back, and I hope that within a couple of days after receiving this, she'll be back in your arms, and safe. There is nothing you can do. You'll just have to be patient and wait for the data she'll bring back with her. It should enable you to seal the tear in the fabric of time and space that makes Rose's room in the Willows such a scary place.

I have bequeathed the Willows to Rose because I loved her in those short days that we were together. It wasn't sisterly love, and it certainly wasn't romantic love either. I cannot explain it. We were very close, Rose and I. When I left Torchwood in 1956, I asked for the Willows; it was Torchwood's property then, and I'd lived there to make sure that no more people disappeared. After I moved away from London, it stood mostly empty. It's a sad story, really, and I'm afraid that I couldn't prevent more people from disappearing. I have every faith, however, that you and Rose will find a way of making the Willows a safe place, and a home for the two of you and the family you might have one day.

You might want to tell Rose when she comes back that the Mo she met in 1938 was really called Henrietta Morton. I haven't used the name since my days with Torchwood.

The things you'll find in the suitcase are Rose's. They are the few possessions she had in 1938, and she left them behind when she returned to you. I've kept them safe, in the hope that one day I might be able to return them to her in person. But I'm afraid my time is running out. I would have loved to meet her again, and to get to know you. She loves you so much, John. I wish I had loved and been loved like that in my life. It was a happy life, a good life, but I think yours is all the richer for having each other. I don't have any family. Sam, Fred and Ruth are my family these days. They're good people, and my only request is that you tell them how I knew Rose. They kept telling me to stop obsessing about her; don't worry, I don't have a secret shrine at home, or a folder full of clippings. Let me just say that when she got you back, she looked so much happier in the photos that were published. All I have is a photo Jack took of me and Rose the night before we left for Munich.

I consider myself very lucky to have met Rose when I was young, and then again after she first came to this universe. It's crazy, this life we live. But it's bloody marvellous.

Love her, John, and never let her go. Have a fantastic life together, and be happy in the Willows.

Love,  
Mo

P.S.: I'm glad you discovered the leaves in the master bedroom. It took me ages to paint them. It's my gift to you. Never forget home.

The Doctor read the letter again. And again.

He put it down, slipped his glasses off his nose and ruffled his hair, not knowing whether he should laugh or cry. Henrietta Morton, Mo, and Rose had been friends in 1938, the year Rose had been transported to.

1938.

A year that was so much happier in this universe than in their original one.

But Rose wasn't back yet. Mo had mentioned that they'd found something out about the Weeping Angels, or this universe's version of the Weeping Angels at least. If only she'd been less vague in her explanations. There were so many things he could find out, and yet she'd told him that he'd have to wait for Rose to return to make the Willows a safe place.

“When, Mo?” he murmured. “When will Rose come back?”

Cat chose that moment to leap off his lap. He'd obviously had enough of the stroking, and he disappeared out the door. Weeping Angels that allowed for travel in both directions. It made sense – to them the energy would be the same whether this came from transporting people, or cats, back or forward in time. But why the tear and space and time? They'd never cared about that in his original universe.

He ducked his head.

That was exactly it, wasn't it? he mused. Neither he nor Rose really belonged here. So many things were different, some more, some less, but still he was reminded time and again that he was a stray, that Rose was a stray. He himself was slightly different from his... from the Other. He was part Donna, but even the Donna in this universe was different from his Donna. Mo was right. It was a crazy life.

He went back to the letter to check – even though he knew better – if she'd said when Rose would return. Naturally, the date hadn't magically appeared.

Rose had obviously managed to find a way back, that much he'd gathered from the letter. But what if she'd disappeared from 1938, only to turn up God knew when? Mo had no way of knowing that Rose really made it back to 2010.

And Jack! Jack Harkness had appeared too. What role did he play in this?

Mo's letter had raised more questions than it had answered, and he feared that he would never get some of the answers, not if Eoin wasn't able to find the files he'd requested.

From the way it looked, Mo was right in one regard: he wouldn't be able to do anything but wait for Rose to return. Would she return? When? Mo had failed to let him know how many days had passed between Rose's arrival and her departure. She'd only said they'd travelled to Munich in 1938. What if he travelled to Munich? Would Rose turn up there? Or in her room, the same place she'd been whisked away from? When and where did Cat come from? How could they ever hope to make the Willows a safe place? What had Mo meant when she'd said she'd loved Rose?

Her mentioning stalkers had been rather unsettling, but of course she couldn't have known she'd hit a little too close to home. Why hadn't she got in touch with them before her death? Was Rose's disappearance a fixed point in time? If so, how did she know?

The Doctor groaned, leaning forward to hide his face in his hands, propped on his elbows.

What if Rose didn't find her way back to him in 2010? What if she turned up in 2050, when he was an old man? She wouldn't have aged a day, and he'd have lived his life without her...

“Doctor?”

Donna's voice startled him.

“Doctor, what's wrong?” She dropped her bag and rushed in to comfort him. He saw her face fall, and it was only then that he realised that his skin had gone taut where tears had coursed down his cheeks.

“I know where Rose is,” he said, his voice breaking. He picked up Mo's letter and held it out for Donna to read.

He stood, drained but aching to do something, anything, to distract himself a little from the revelations. Donna took his seat to read the letter, and he moved to the kitchen. He didn't like hovering, and he thought that Donna might be hungry after her lecture. But the fridge was empty. That would never have happened with Rose around. He slammed the door shut and the bottles in the door pockets rattled in protest.

“That's... good news, in a way, yeah?” Donna said. She'd followed him into the kitchen.

He didn't answer.

“Have you looked at the things in the suitcase yet?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I can't.”

Donna sighed, and before he knew it, she'd closed the distance between them and drew him into a tight hug. It was exactly what he needed, and he allowed himself to fall apart in her arms.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Rose's thoughts were reeling. The irony of it all made her guffaw, and she tried to stifle the sound by clamping her hand firmly over her mouth. The Doctor was desperate to find a way to travel in time. He had no TARDIS though he could travel virtually, though the one time he’d shown her she’d been overwhelmed by a kind of motion sickness. The fact that he probably would never physically travel in time again was confirmed on their trip to the Kunsthistorische Museum in Vienna a year earlier. And here she was, apparently the source of an energy spike which she had ridden out and travelled in time quite by accident. She got what the Doctor couldn't have, despite his best efforts. She’d gotten what The Doctor most wanted and could not have, whether she wanted it or not.

“It's not like that,” Nick replied. “You did travel in time, and you used energy you generated yourself – and please don't ask me how that is possible – but I'm fairly sure that we're missing something.”

“The on-switch,” Mo said, popping the last of her pastry into her mouth.

“The on-switch,” Rose repeated, quite dumbfounded.

“Something that triggered your burst of energy,” Nick clarified. “As far as I know, and please correct me if I'm wrong, you were painting that room when it happened.”

Rose nodded.

“Well, that is such a mundane activity that I can't imagine it having triggered the burst of energy.”

“So you mean that we need to look for the on-switch?”

“We're in the dark, groping for it,” Jack commented, sipping his coffee.

“Ever the poet, you are, love,” Mo said.

“You started the switch image,” Jack retorted.

“Wait!” Rose cried, holding up her hand. “You mean that I used my own energy to come here but that it wasn't me who... initiated the time travelling, but someone else?”

“Or something else,” Nick pointed out.

Rose slumped into her chair. “Great. So that means this can happen again any time.”

“That's what we're trying to find out,” Mo said. “That, and who flicked the switch.” She grinned, sticking out her tongue to Jack.

“But... why?” Rose wondered. “I mean, why make me travel? Who'd benefit from me travelling in time?”

Mo shrugged.

Nick studied the pattern of the damask tablecloth.

Jack leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

“Don't tell me it's some sort of joke,” Rose whispered.

They didn't answer.

“Bad joke,” Rose pointed out.

“Very bad joke,” Nick agreed.

They sat in silence for a while.

“I don't suppose it'd be Weeping Angels?” Rose said eventually.

Jack leaned forward in his seat. “Never heard of them. Who are they?”

“Well,” Rose began, “I haven't met them either, thankfully, but th... John has told me about them. They are very ancient beings, made of stone, who can't move as long as you look at them. But as soon as you turn your back on them, or so much as blink, they will whisk you backwards in time. They feed on the energy that your missing body doesn't need in your original time. You're sent back to an earlier time to live out your life, you can't get back. So for all intents and purposes, you're dead in your own time.”

“Wow.” Jack leaned back, obviously impressed.

“And there's no way for you to return?” Mo asked.

Nick answered the question in Rose's stead. “Well, obviously not, since returning means you'll need your life's energy back, and the Weeping Angels won't return that once they've got it.”

Rose swallowed. “I... I'm sorry, I need a moment.” With that she stood and left the hotel's little garden. She needed a few minutes to collect herself. If it really was the Weeping Angels, even with the one spike that was just a little off, her worst fear had been realised. She'd be stuck on the slow path, and would only live to see the Doctor again if she was lucky and lived to be very old.

She hurried through the small lobby and out into the noisy square, drawing in air as if she'd just broken the surface of the water after a long time beneath it. The air was painful as it rushed into her lungs, and she doubled over, clutching her middle in pain.

Hands grabbed her, and familiar voices wafted around her, drowned out by the rushing in her ears. She felt dizzy and she hurt. She cried and gasped for air, but she didn't get better. She lost her footing and her knees gave, but the hands broke her fall and she was pulled into a warm, strong embrace.

Finally, she was able to cry out in pain. Or at least she was able to hear her own agony.

“Rose...”

“It's okay.”

“...upstairs.”

“...doctor...”

“Brauchen Sie einen Arzt?”

“Rose?”

Someone swept her off her feet and she draped her arms around their neck. It was just as well. Her world was ending. She didn't care.

Just... leave me be.

-:-

“'m sorry,” she mumbled after she had calmed down. She'd been taken up to the room she shared with Mo and allowed to cry herself out. The tears had left her exhausted, and she'd dozed off once the hiccoughing had stopped. Mo was sitting on her side of the bed, reading, her back propped against the headboard. She lowered her book and slipped in her bookmark.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked softly. Her gaze was as gentle as Rose had ever seen it.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Then there's nothing to be sorry about. A good cry does wonders, and I was a bit surprised that you remained strong for as long as you did,” she said, scooting down on the bed and rolling to lie facing Rose.

“I... I shouldn't have,” Rose said, drawing a deep breath, “Fallen apart like this. Not in public. I feel as if I've betrayed everyone.”

“You haven't, Rose,” Mo said, brushing back an errant lock from Rose's face.

“I've lost hope,” she protested. “I never lose hope. I... if I'd given up on the dimension cannon I'd never have gotten the Do... John back. And I feel like I'm letting him down now.”

Mo sighed. “You're one stubborn woman, Rose Tyler. You'll never give up hope. And reacting like you did, it's human.”

Rose rolled onto her back, rubbing her hands over her face. “Am I a monster?”

“Oh please,” Mo groaned, propping herself up on her elbows. “We'd better tackle the real monster out there. Nick came in earlier to check on you, and he told me he might have found something. He was quite excited.”

“Earlier?” Rose wondered, dismissing the promising comment for the moment. She didn't want to get her hopes up only to have them shattered. “What time is it?”

“Supper time.”

Rose blushed.

“Don't worry, there isn't much we can do until tomorrow morning. Besides, you needed the rest. Shall we go and see what's on the menu tonight?”

Rose smiled and nodded. “Yeah, let's go.” She didn't really want to see Jack and Nick just yet, not after what had happened, but she knew she couldn't put it off for much longer. After a quick check in the mirror and a splash of cold water in her face, she touched up what little make-up she wore and they went downstairs to the restaurant. When they stepped outside into the garden she was surprised how warm the night-air was so early in May.

Agnes had joined them, and she and the men were sitting at the same table under the huge chestnut tree they'd occupied the previous night. The three of them smiled at Rose and Mo as they took their seats. The waitress appeared by their elbows and took their drink order, and once she'd left Rose apologised to the others.

“We were worried about you there for a moment,” Jack admitted, his eyes unusually mellow. “Hopefully, this news will cheer you up a little.” He looked expectantly at Agnes, who produced a notebook from her handbag and opened it at a spot marked with a bunch of folded-up papers that were wedged between the bound pages.

“I went to the city's archive while we were waiting for you,” she began. “I remembered a story my grandmother used to tell me when I was a small girl. It has to do with the dragon on the town hall corner.” She thumbed through the pages, skimming their contents briefly. The waitress reappeared bearing their beers, ready to take their food order. After she had gone, Agnes, who was clearly impatient for her to leave, continued with her story. “The story she told me and what I found in the archives are actually quite similar.

“In the Middle Ages there was a massive outbreak of the Black Death. Shortly before that a dragon had appeared in the town. It rose from one of the deepest wells, which it reputedly poisoned. Some citizens managed to kill it as it clung to the corner of a building. But instead of bleeding and falling to the ground it turned into stone. When the building was demolished to make room for the New Town Hall they retained that corner as a memorial to the men's bravery.”

“My little brother would love that story,” Rose said.

“But as always, this story is just a way of filling in the blanks, of explaining the inexplicable,” Nick said. Everybody turned their attention to him, particularly Agnes who had wanted to go on with her theory. But Nick was oblivious to her expression and produced two envelopes with with photos from his briefcase. One bore the address of the photographer's on Kaufinger Strasse, the other Torchwood's seal. “I've had the photos Rose took developed and made prints of the ones she took with the camera we picked up at the flea market last month,” he explained. And for Rose's benefit he added, “It was a really lucky find, and the photos you've taken are phenomenally good.”

They moved the glasses aside and he spread the photos out on the table. The photos weren't half bad, Rose had to admit, but they weren't anything special. She had applied the rules and techniques she'd learned during her initial Torchwood training.

The photos taken with the ordinary camera showed the stone dragon as it was, cold, cream-coloured stone. The photos showed every little detail of the life-like sculpture. It is surprising, Rose thought, how little the stone has suffered from being exposed to the elements and what little pollution damage there was. All the other sculptures or gargoyles of that age she'd admired had suffered a lot over the centuries. She pointed that out to the others.

Mo said, “That could prove the Weeping Angel theory. Or not. But it clearly proves that this is not any old stone sculpture we're dealing with.”

Nick nodded knowingly. Everyone gasped when he laid out the pictures Rose had taken with the special camera with a triumphant smile. They showed the statue for what it really was. It was a bit blurry, and Rose thought they might be able to look at the picture properly with a pair of 3D glasses on.

“What, exactly, is that?” Mo asked. She picked up one of the photos to examine it more closely.

“Living stone,” Nick said matter-of-factly. He was, for all his quiet amazement, the one member of the team who seemed least impressed by whatever Torchwood encountered.

“Weeping Angels,” Rose whispered. There was no doubt it was them. The Doctor had told her about them – at her insistence; the creatures fascinated her above any of the others he'd encountered during his travels without her. She had never seen any photos or encountered them herself, but now she recognised them instantly.

“Yes,” Nick said.

“The dragon must have come to Earth before Munich existed, or maybe in prehistoric times even,” Agnes said. “Maybe – probably – it hid from something or someone. Once it felt it was safe, it rose to the surface.”

“Could it just have been hibernating?” Jack asked. After Agnes nodded, he said, “Anyway, whatever woke it, it coincided with an outbreak of the Black Death. Which explains that part of the story, but not the time-travelling bit. Particularly not why the travels seem to be restricted to a... a tunnel between London and Munich.”

“Maybe it's just a tear in the fabric of time and space that's responsible for that,” Mo said. “What's more interesting is what the dragon was hiding from, or perhaps more importantly, what woke it. It is quite a strong reaction, and it might answer the question of how to deal with it. How to get Rose back home. How to stop people from disappearing.”

“Do we know about anyone from Munich appearing in Rose's house?” Jack asked, turning towards Agnes. She went through her notes. “I'd have to check missing person's files with the police. Of course, we'd only find out about open cases, not what happened to them, right? Besides, I don't have that kind of connection.”

Rose heaved a sigh. “What if it was hurt and just sleeping to recover? Or hibernating?”

Jack nodded, sitting a bit straighter in his chair. “Yeah, let's stick with that theory. Since the beast lives off people's energy of a lifetime not spent in their era, the hibernating theory sounds more likely.”

“But we'd be foolish not to pursue the other theory,” Mo protested. “To the Weeping Angels Earth must be like Christmas dinner – over and over again.”

“If you can charm the local police into sharing their missing persons files with you, be my guest,” Jack said.

“What about that tear in the fabric of space and time?” Rose asked. “It could be just something the Weeping Angels take advantage of. It's a pity we can't ask it.” She tossed the photo she'd been examining back onto the pile and leaned back in her chair.

“Which does not mean we won't find a way home for you,” Jack hastened to say, reaching across the table to cover Rose's left hand with his. Rose smiled and nodded, but more in acknowledgement of his gesture than in real conviction. The Doctor had told her about the ways of the Weeping Angels. There was no negotiating.

“We will, I promise,” Jack said. “You did trust my counterpart, didn't you?”

Rose nodded.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yeah,” she said softly.

“We will find a way back home,” Jack repeated.

“But you have your Vortex Manipulator,” she said softly.

“Exactly, and as soon as I find a way of repairing it I'll take us home.”

A pang of guilt coursed through Rose. As much as she wanted to accept his offer, she couldn't live with getting home if someone else paid the price. She didn't want to tell Jack about the baby; that was Estelle's job, but she also knew that she might need to tell Jack so he could make a decision.

The others ducked their heads. Clearly, it was a difficult topic for them. Rose had no idea how much Jack had influenced Torchwood, but if she knew him at all she'd say that Torchwood wouldn't be the same without him.

“How long have you been... stranded here?” she asked.

“Five years.”

The waitress brought their food and spared Rose the need to respond. Five years was a long time, even with the life he'd built here. Who knew what or whom he'd left behind in the 51st century. Somehow, he had managed not to get too attached to his life in exile. He didn't want to find it difficult to return once he got the chance – Rose wondered how sincere his feelings for Estelle really were. Not getting too attached was exactly what she would have done, what she should have done: never give up hope. Her entire life revolved around that. A fresh wave of shame washed through her.

“Are you all right, Rose?” Mo asked, laying a gentle hand on her forearm.

Rose attempted a smile and nodded. Then she began to pick at her food. Jack caught her eye, and she could see in his eyes that he had sussed her out. Pretending not to notice, she smiled at him, this time more successfully, and ate with a bit more gusto; the 1938 Bavarian version of mac and cheese was quite good.

-:-

After dinner, they went back to examining the photos a bit more closely. The excitement over their findings and theories had distracted them quite a bit, and they felt they needed to find out more, maybe even confirm one of their theories. It was Mo who spotted it.

Ensuring that she had everyone's attention she pointed out a series of cracks on the dragon's wings. Had the beast been a normal, living being, the skin between the bones would have been leathery. “I think these are scars. It looks like Rose is right – the dragon probably slept to recover.” Mo passed the photo on to Rose, who in turn gave it to Jack.

“And now that it's nearly healed, it needs more energy, of course,” Rose concluded. “And sends people hurtling through time and space.”

“It must have discovered the tear in the fabric of space and time and chosen that spot to settle there, so as to come by... energy easily,” Mo said.

“Clever little thing,” Nick said in admiration.

“When is it going to wake up?” Agnes wondered, taking the picture in question from Nick.

“It's not a Weeping Angel then?” Jack asked. He was the only one who wasn't thrilled by Mo's discovery. Although her heart clenched in sympathy, Rose couldn't help feeling relieved. She wouldn't have to tell him about his family after all.

Then, however, sudden inspiration struck. “I'm not so sure. I've never heard of creatures turning to stone. Well, apart from Graógraman.”

“Who?” Nick said, leaning forward in his chair.

“A character in a book. Never mind,” she smiled, brushing the idea away. “I've travelled a lot and seen a lot with Torchwood.” Rose looked at Jack. He was the only other person at the table who had as much – and probably more – knowledge of the alien worlds out there than she had.

Her prompt drew him out of his funk. “Never heard of them before. Who knows how far they have travelled. Maybe this dragon is a stray, who got lost and injured far away from home. I wonder if there's any way of communicating with it.”

“John never mentioned anything like that,” Rose said, “But then again, he encountered them in another universe. For all I know, the Weeping Angels of this universe might be completely different.”

Jack smiled and reached to cover her hand with his. “That's the spirit.”

“We need to find out when it will finally wake. It might be terrified, or confused,” Rose said. “Scared creatures are most dangerous.”

“Thanks for pointing that out,” Mo said acerbically.

“So, what do we do?” Nick asked.

“Just wait,” Jack and Rose said in unison.

“No more research?” Agnes asked in disappointment. “Well, there isn't any point now, is there.”

They shook their heads.

-:-

The dragon came to life that very evening.

Giving Rose some privacy to get ready for bed, Mo was looking at it through the window of their hotel room, watching it where it clung to the corner of the New Town Hall. At first she thought it was a trick of the light but then she realised that the creature had actually moved. It was only a small movement, but it was enough to catch her attention.

“Rose!”

Rose was just pulling her nightie over her head and tugging it down her body. “What?”

“Come, quick! I think the dragon's waking up!” Mo cried excitedly.

Rose rushed to the window, bumping hard into Mo's side. They stood still like that for a while, waiting for the creature's next movement. Rose was pressed into her friend's side, not daring to move for fear of scaring the dragon, which was completely ridiculous, of course. There was no way it could see from across the square, especially in the dim light of the gas street lamps.

“We have to... go and check,” Rose breathed after the dragon's tail had twitched.

“Yes.”

Rose turned towards Mo as she made to go.

“That's fantastic, Rose,” Mo said.

Rose froze. She hadn't anyone hear say fantastic quite like that just before her first Doctor had begun to regenerate. Her heart began hammering against her chest. Whatever it was she'd wanted to say was stuck in her throat. Mo was gazing intently at her. Rose knew that kind of look, and she thought, briefly, that this was wrong, but then Mo's lips crashed against hers for a kiss.

It was brief, and involved only a swipe of the tongue, before they pulled apart.

Both of them flushed furiously.

“We'd better...”

“Yeah.”

Just as they left their room, the door to Nick and Jack's room opened, and together, they hurried down the hotel's wooden stairs.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Donna had left a note for him on the kitchen table. She'd had to go to the conference again but promised to bring back lunch for the two of them. The note sat next to a bowl of cereal and a bottle of milk, a gentle reminder for him to eat. There was also a banana, which he picked up and ate while he put on the kettle for some morning tea, all the while trying to ignore the old suitcase sitting at the far end of the table.

He hadn't been able to bring himself to open it and examine its contents the previous night, not even with Donna there for support. Although he'd had a good night's sleep – thanks to a mild soporific Donna had insisted he take – he still didn't feel quite up to the daunting task of going through Rose's belongings. For some reason he couldn't shake the notion that looking at them was tantamount to acknowledging that he had lost her forever. Reading her farewell letter had been bad enough, had roused the feeling of giving up on her too early, of failing her. He wasn't going to make that same mistake a second time. He knew the ways of Time, and he wasn't as confident as Mo that Rose would return to him the same way she'd been taken. He knew next to nothing about the tear in Time in Rose's room, and Torchwood, bloody Torchwood, were just as stumped. The babyphone had been largely silent, which meant that nothing was happening in the locked room above stairs.

He discarded the banana peel and leaned heavily on the counter.

He was utterly unfamiliar with feeling so helpless, and he hated it. Never before had he allowed a situation like this to paralyse both his body and mind like this. He'd always known that Rose was his Achilles heel. But what was happening to him now was worse than he'd thought, and he didn't even recognise himself any more. It certainly wasn't the Donna inside him. Had he changed so much over the past year? Was that part of becoming human?

The mug he'd set out for himself remained sitting, neglected, even after the kettle clicked off.

He pushed himself away from the counter, grabbed his keys, Mo's letter and his mobile and set off for Torchwood. He needed to talk to Sophie. There was more to be investigated, and at the very least he wanted to borrow some more equipment. He couldn't just sit around any more, doing nothing. As soon as it turned out that Rose's stalker wasn't responsible for her disappearance, he should have taken matters into his own hands, as he was wont to.

The journey to Torchwood was swift, and, luckily, Pete had a few minutes to spare before his next appointment. Pete must have noticed the state he was in, because before the Doctor knew it he was settled in one of the comfy armchairs away from the desk, a mug of tea in his hands.

They sat in silence for a while. Then he gave Pete Mo's letter. While Pete read, he let the tea takes its effect – wake his senses but also calm them.

“How did you get this?” Pete asked, putting the letter on the coffee table between them.

“Mo's flat mate, Samuel Williamson, brought it last night.”

“Have you... read Rose's letter?”

The Doctor shook his head. “It's in the suitcase. I can't bring myself to open it. It feels... I can't. It feels as if Rose is... gone.”

“But it says here that,” Pete said, picking up the letter. He scanned it quickly for the relevant information. “Actually, it doesn't. It just says that Rose disappeared from 1938 as well.”

“She and Jack Harkness,” the Doctor said. He was both grateful and relieved that Pete treated the contents of the letter just as cautiously as he.

“But at least we know that your theory about those Weeping Angels is right,” Pete said. “I realise of course that they might be different from the ones you know.”

The Doctor sighed, studying the backs of his hands, the smattering of hairs there. “If they're anything like in our original universe there's little hope Rose will return to us. It's more likely that Weeping Angel took her even further back in time. To Rassilon knows when.”

Pete leaned back slowly in his armchair. “I'm not ready to give up on her yet,” he said, his confidence betrayed by by the defeated tone of his voice.

The Doctor bristled. Was Pete implying that he had? “Neither am I. I'm sick of this, Pete.” He jumped to his feet. “I'm sick of sitting around, doing nothing, of waiting for your lot to make time in your oh so busy schedules to find her. I know she's just the love of my life, but she's also your daughter, Pete.” His voice changed from carefully measured to sheer outrage; he nearly spat his last words.

Pete held his gaze evenly. He looked sad, and tired. Too tired to rise to the challenge the Doctor had just set him. The Doctor turned on his heel and strode towards the window, his arms wrapped around himself to contain the rage that shuddered through his body.

“I failed her once before, Pete,” he said softly. “I didn't try to get her back. I just accepted that the Void was unbridgeable. She proved me wrong. She came back to me. I can't make the same mistake again. If I don't, I don't know how I'll be able to look myself in the eye again. Or her.”

“Mo says there's nothing you can do. Not while you're in London,” Pete said. The leather of his chair creaked as he leaned forward.

The Doctor shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the city below him.

“I'll send a team to Munich to investigate.”

“No need.” He turned back to Pete. “The only dragon I know of in Munich is made of bronze.”

Pete exhaled slowly. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Can we go through the data again? We must be missing something.”

-:-

When he returned to the Willows it was nearly supper time. Pulling into the drive, he realised that he'd forgotten all about Donna. He hoped she would forgive him for standing her up for lunch. How many more people would he disappoint that day, he wondered. He had felt a little better as he and Sophie went through the data once more. Pete had checked on them every once in a while, but every time they'd had to tell him the same thing; that they hadn't found anything new, that they hadn't made any mistakes the first time round.

He parked the car next to Donna's. Behind it, a lady's bike was propped against the wall. He'd never seen it before. Frowning, he pushed open the back door. Laughter reached his ears as he stepped into the small hall. Female laughter. Three females' laughter, to be precise.

Rose?

He froze.

No, that wasn't Rose's laughter. One was Donna's, one sounded familiar, but the third person he didn't recognise at all. He stepped into the kitchen.

Donna was leaning against the breakfast bar, her shoulders shaking with laughter, and, along with it, a glass of wine; it was perilously close to spilling. Then there was Claire – he hadn't recognised her, and the laughter made her look younger than she was. The third woman was the youngest of the lot. She was working at the stove with her back to the others. She had swept her dark hair up in a bun and fixed it with a pair of chopsticks. She was also wearing his apron. Lifting the lid of the saucepan, she added a handful of something green. The air was filled with the scent of wine and onions.

Then the girl turned around. It was Sue Whiting, his student assistant, who also worked for Rocket Science, the bookshop for cooks on the corner of Duke's Gate. She was the first to spot him. “Doctor!” she said, her laughter dying down to something more gentle.

“Hello, Sue,” he said, stepping closer. Cat, he spied from the corner of his eye, had curled up on top of the suitcase. It was still sitting on the table. “Claire. Donna, I...”

“Where have you been?” Donna said, her laughter fading entirely. “I was worried sick!”

“Torchwood. There were a few things I had to go through for...” he stopped himself. Sue didn't know Rose was missing, and although he liked the girl, he'd rather that remained so.

“You couldn't have left me a note, could you?” Donna said. She was surprisingly calm. “Well, I hope you don't mind our little party.”

“We both dropped by for a little chat, and, well,” Claire said apologetically.

“We ended up discussing food, and before I knew it, they had made me prove myself,” Sue said, shrugging.

“What are you cooking?” the Doctor asked. He was grateful for their company. The result of the day's work – nothing new – had left him with lower spirits than that morning, but at least he finally felt like he was doing something that might help to bring Rose home. Maybe Mo was right, that there really wasn't anything he could do, but he was trying, and perhaps he'd be able to prove her wrong.

“Risotto with asparagus. Should be done in a couple of minutes,” Sue said.

“You've been bragging about that for a while,” the Doctor said. All of a sudden, his stomach reminded him of the fact that he hadn't had anything more substantial than a banana and some biscuits all day.

Claire found the plates and made to set the table. “What is that thing doing here?” she asked, gesturing at the suitcase with the plates.

“It's Rose's suitcase,” the Doctor said softly.

Claire's lips formed a perfect circle, but no sound came from it.

“I'll take it to your room,” Donna said, and did just that, picking it up with the sleeping Cat still on top of it.

“I'm sorry,” Claire whispered, laying her hand lightly on his arm as he reached out to help her set the table. He merely nodded.

“Doctor,” Sue began as she joined them with the wine glasses. “I was wondering if you could help me with one of my essays. It's basically done, but something about it feels a little off, but I don't know what it is.”

Again, he only nodded.

They had supper together, and he didn't spare the suitcase in his room another thought until Claire and Sue stood to leave. Sue had truly outdone herself with the risotto. “It's in the book I first sold you,” she whispered conspiratorially to him as she rose on her tiptoes to give him a shy peck on his cheek.

“I'm sorry, Donna,” he said, topping up their wine glasses with the rest of the contents of the second bottle they'd opened. He picked their glasses up and preceded Donna into his study. He handed her her glass once she was comfortable on the sofa.

“Did you learn anything new?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“You're not used to that, are you?” she asked, sipping her wine.

“No. I feel as if I'm failing Rose for following Mo's advice,” he said.

“Well, that depends on how trustworthy Mo was,” Donna said.

He'd never checked, had never really read her file apart from the essential facts. But her photo had given him the impression that she was a very reliable, competent person. “If she worked with Jack, she had to be,” he mused. He quickly told Donna about Jack – hoping that the Jack in this universe wasn't too different from the one in his original universe.

“I never read Rose's letter,” the Doctor said after a moment's silence. “But I don't want to open the suitcase by myself.”

Donna nodded. “You could just get her letter and ignore the rest. If Mo is like any other woman I know, she's put it on top of everything else.”

The Doctor nodded. Cat had disappeared, probably to explore the garden, leaving the suitcase unguarded. He slid open the mechanism of the locks. They unsnapped, and he slowly lifted the lid. A garment of black wool lay on top, with her Converse trainers, soles up, nestled in two corners of the suitcase. And on top of the black wool – a skirt, maybe, or trousers – sat a buff-coloured envelope, addressed to John Noble. He recognised the handwriting; it was Mo's. He snatched it and dropped the lid shut.

He opened the envelope with shaking hands, and the first item to slip into his lap was the photograph Mo had mentioned. He noticed Rose first. She looked very... thirties. Her hair and make-up matched the year perfectly, and so did her blouse. He suspected it might be in the suitcase. She was smiling, but he knew her well enough to know that her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. They were a tad sad. Mo's smile, on the other hand, was half-mocking, amused, almost a little giddy. Her words came back to him: I loved her. A powerful wave of jealousy washed through him. Although she had written that her love for Rose was somewhere in between platonic and romantic love, he didn't quite trust Mo's words in that regard.

“That's her? Mo?” Donna asked, leaning into him to get a better view of the photo.

“Yes.”

“Well, Rose looks all right. Not particularly happy, but at least she's unhurt, yeah?”

The Doctor nodded. “Yeah.”

Donna made to stand, but he stopped her with a hand on her thigh. “Please stay.”

“I wouldn't want to intrude.”

“You aren't. I just... I'd like you to be there when I read her letter.”

Donna nodded and settled back into the sofa. “Would you like me to stay until she's back?” she asked very softly.

Once again the Doctor wondered why he lacked the confidence in Rose's swift return that everyone else seemed to have based on Mo's letter. “I... I'd love that, but what about Sam and Mark?”

“Sam's at his grandparents' this week, and Mark, bless him, he... he's very understanding.”

“I'd hate to monopolise you again,” the Doctor said.

“Well, as you said, I'm your closest thing you have to family,” Donna said. “There's no way you'll get rid of me easily, Mister.”

The Doctor grinned.

He sobered quickly, though, when he ripped open the envelope that had been sealed for 72 years.

Dear Doctor,

I hope you'll find this before you're worried sick about me.

He laughed, despite himself.

I'm in 1938, in Claire's house. Of course it's not Claire's house yet. It's Captain Jack's place. He's stranded here, just like me, and he's helping me find a way back to you. I was working in my room when I found myself sucked into this tear in space and time – it was like being sucked into the Void, a memory I'd rather not have revisited. I ended up being transported back 72 years, reappearing in the street outside the Willows. Estelle Cole, Jack's girlfriend, took me in. He's the head of Torchwood now. His team and I are going to leave for Munich tomorrow, where we hope we will to find some answers. One of Jack's contacts there picked up the same strange energy readings they found on me.

I miss you.

I've also hidden a couple of photos around the house, and hopefully you'll find them. This time I really did travel in time, and it's me in the photos.

I'm doing everything I can to get back to you – that's why I'm going to Munich with them, although I'd prefer to stay here, close to you.

Love, always

Rose

He shuddered. She'd never told him what being sucked into the Void was like. It was horrible to watch, horrible not to be able to help her. He couldn't even begin to imagine how terrified she must have been. Now she'd had to experience it all over again.

“Are you all right?” Donna asked softly, leaning towards him on the sofa.

He nodded, folding the letter. The large envelope held a couple of postcards addressed to him. They had stamps on them but had never been sent. Rose had probably intended to post them, addressed to him, c/o Torchwood, but then she'd disappeared yet again. They all said basically the same. How much she missed him, and how much she loved him. There were, however, no updates on their investigation. He gathered the letter and postcards and put them on the blotter on his desk. The postcards were black and white photographs of the town centre, places he recognised from his own trip there, when he'd been running and looking for himself. The sadness, the loneliness of those days came back to him, and he slumped into his chair, covering his eyes with one hand. His throat felt tight. He didn't want to cry. Not again.

“Have you started working on the coral?”

He looked up, releasing the breath he'd been holding for fear of falling apart again. Donna was standing next to him, her hand on the back of his chair. As he turned towards her, Donna crouched before him, her hands on his knees.

“The TARDIS coral,” she repeated.

He opened and closed his mouth, he ducked his head. “It takes years to grow a TARDIS. I want to get to know this life before I start anything else,” he said. “Even if I had started growing her straight away, she wouldn't be ready for a while yet to go and look for Rose.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't... I was just curious,” Donna said, so softly he thought he'd imagined it. “You were so lost without that coral, I...” she interrupted herself. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” he said. “And even if I had my TARDIS, where would I start looking for Rose?”

“Yeah, you're right,” she admitted. “Are you going to... grow her, one day?”

The Doctor had to admit that he had wondered about that from time to time, had drawn up lists and diagrams to brainstorm what he'd need. Until now, the limitations of Rose's flat had been a welcome excuse not to get started. This life was so exciting in its own way that he didn't miss travelling in time and space as much as he thought he would. He did miss the thrill sometimes, and the soothing song of his TARDIS, but whenever his melancholy became too powerful, he'd take the small piece of coral in his palm and wrap his fingers around it, feel its faint pulse and listen closely. He wasn't even sure if what he was hearing was the voice of his TARDIS, ever so softly continuing her song, or just his imagination.

“I don't know, Donna. I might,” he said, covering her hands with his.

Donna rose, letting go of him.

“I'd love it if you stayed until the weekend,” he said.

Before she could say anything, his mobile chirped in his pocket, and he fished it out. It was Jackie. His heart clenched when he had to tell her that the letters in the suitcase hadn't been addressed to her. “But she asked me to tell you that she's fine, and misses you.”

“When will she be back, Doctor?” Jackie asked, and he could tell it took her a lot of courage to ask that question. This was the second time Rose had gone missing, and it was only now that he could even begin to imagine what it must have been like for her when Rose had gone missing a whole year. And it had been his fault.

“According to Jack's file, some time tomorrow. Assuming, of course, that the trip takes only seconds,” he said. His heart began to thump. Tomorrow. Rose might be back tomorrow. He drew in a steadying breath. He didn't want to get his hopes up too high, and he hoped that Pete would take care that Jackie didn't, either.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, “that's what Pete reckons. Would you like to come round?”

“No, I... Donna's here, and I've got... the detector to look after.”

Jackie sighed. “Of course. You will ring us if there's any news?”

“Of course I will, Jackie,” he said. Then he rang off.

“Liar,” Donna said, but her voice was full of approval. She bent to hug him, but he rose and drew her up with him because the position was getting awkward. “You're a liar, but I love you anyway.”

“Jackie knows,” he mumbled into her hair. He withdrew.

“I don't think so,” Donna said, touching the postcards. “Anyway, you told her what she needed to hear.”

He set his jaw. “Will Rose be back by tomorrow night?”

Instead of an answer, Donna reached up, cupped his jaw and kissed his cheek.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

It was a windy day, the kind that heralded change. The Doctor could sense it, the air was crackling with it. He woke early that morning and reached groggily towards the bedside table to turn his alarm clock off before it rang. His eyes adjusted to the light filling the room, allowing him to see the flecks of sunlight as it filtered through the willows outside and danced on the bare floorboards and the walls. He smiled and rolled to lie on his back. The leaves on the ceiling above the bed were still, but he could hear the wind rustling in the real leaves.

Mo had painted the leaves for Rose.

He still wasn't sure what he should make of Mo's confession.

He reached up, his fingers splayed, as if to grasp the leaves. Then he dropped his hand on the pillow beside his head. What memory did Rose and Mo share that Mo would paint these leaves for her?

He rolled over to face Rose's side of the bed. He hadn't touched her pillow the previous night, for fear of losing her scent if he hugged it to him again. What was she doing now? Was she still in Munich? Or had it already happened?

The Doctor splayed his hand on her pillow this time.

“Come back to me, Rose,” he whispered.

He briefly wondered what he'd do if she didn't return that day, screwing his eyes closed in the vain hope that it would banish that thought. He curled into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, his fingers digging into Rose's pillow.

She trailed the tips of her fingers along his unshaven jaw, starting at his sideburns, going as far she could as he'd tucked his chin in the crook of his shoulder and chest. Once she couldn't go any further, she repeated the motion, once, twice, three times, and he gradually felt himself relax. He let go of her pillow and opened up a little.

“Rose,” he whispered, smiling, his eyes still closed. He didn't want to break the spell. Her caresses were so much more enjoyable when he wasn't looking. He trusted her with all that he was.

“Sh,” she said softly. Her fingers wandered up into his hair, grazing her fingernails gently across his scalp. The weight of her leg settled on his thigh and waist as she curled the fingers of her free hand around his. Her other hand travelled down his neck and back, rubbing him in soothing circles.

He reached out to draw her closer to him, stretched his legs so he could pull her against him, but his hand only found the cool cotton of the duvet.

His eyes flickered open and he realised that he'd dozed off.

The Doctor rolled onto his back, staring at the blurry leaves above him. How was he supposed to make it through the day? Waiting for something, anything, to happen in Rose's room would drive both Donna and him spare. Going to the Academy would help, he knew that, but he wanted to stay at home, to keep an eye on the babyphone. He wiped his eyes. He'd work from home; there were a couple of things he'd need from his office at the Academy, but he could always call Sue to bring them to the Willows.

Donna was just coming down the stairs when he stepped out of the master suite. “How are you feeling?” she asked, pausing one step shy of the landing.

He sighed. “I'm all right,” he said. Then added, “A bit nervous. Very nervous.”

“Breakfast?” she asked, smiling sympathetically.

He didn't feel like eating.

Donna stepped off the stairs and touched his upper arm. “Come on, at least have some fruit. Then I'll tell you about the idea I've had.”

He perked up a little. “Oh?”

Donna smiled mysteriously. They set to work in the kitchen side by side, he to get a mug of tea ready, she to make herself some coffee. In the end, they were both chopping and peeling and stoning fruit. Donna had been to the market the previous day to pick up some food. The Doctor couldn't help thinking, as he prepared the strawberries, how much Rose would love them. They were her favourite, and he decided that when she returned, he'd feed them to her every single chance he got, together with some champagne – cliché or not. It was one of the few things she'd come to love about being a social butterfly. And there was nothing more beautiful than Rose when she enjoyed strawberries. Well, apart from when she enjoyed him, and when he made her come.

“Doctor?”

Blushing furiously, he looked up. “There was a knock on the door. Aren't you going to go and see who it is?”

He nodded, still a bit absent-minded. The idea had transported him farther away than he'd thought possible. He rubbed the back of his neck; it was tickling a bit, not unpleasantly, but it had, ever since he'd stepped out of the shower. Must be allergic to some of the ingredients of the shampoo.

The Doctor opened the door to a beaming Eoin. “I just thought I'd drop this off on my way in. It got a bit late last night and I didn't want to disturb you.” He pointed at the box sitting by his feet. “I finally found the files. I hope they're what you need.”

A shiver went down the Doctor's spine.

“That's... brilliant, thank you, Eoin,” he eventually managed to say.

Eoin ducked his head. “Well, er, don't mention it. Anything to get Rose back, eh?”

“Yeah,” the Doctor replied, trying to sound less euphoric than he felt. “Would you like a cup of tea? Coffee? I've got both... a friend's visiting, and we're just having breakfast.”

“Nah, I'll be fine. Gotta run. Lots of work to do.”

The Doctor blinked. “It's the archives.”

“Yes, exactly. I made a breakthrough last night, and I'm eager to... you know.”

“Sure. Thank you, Eoin.”

“You'll let us know if... when Rose is back, right? Or if you need anything else?” Eoin asked.

“Of course I will.”

Eoin tipped an imaginary cap and turned on his heel. The Doctor picked up the box, which turned out to be heavier than he'd expected. Carrying it inside, he deposited it on the far end of the kitchen table, where Rose's suitcase had sat until the previous night.

Donna eyed it suspiciously, but if she was anything like her counterpart, she was just as anxious as he to dive into its contents and see what they could find out. He was all the more surprised when she said, “Breakfast first.”

She had done something wonderful with the yoghurt, mascarpone and vanilla she had picked up. The crème was delicious in itself, but together with the fruit, it was among the best desserts he'd ever had. That in combination with strawberries...

The Doctor slipped on his glasses, then he took a deep breath and opened the box. It contained the personnel files of the 1938 team as well as the Munich case and any other reports on the tear in space and time in Rose's room. The team consisted of Jack Harkness, Henrietta Morton, Nicholas Howard and Agnes Grandauer. “Who's she?” Donna said, frowning and drawing her file towards her.

“She must be the Munich contact Mo mentioned,” the Doctor said, leafing through Nicholas Howard's file. There was nothing in it that caught his interest, so he put it aside to read through Mo's. He'd seen it before, but he hadn't paid it that much attention. As he read through it, he learned that after her return to London, she'd been made team leader in Jack's place. His file had been marked Missing in Action.

“You read the case file,” Donna suggested, taking Agnes' file. “I'll just go through these.”

The folder contained the report itself and some forms that gave a quick overview of the events as well as an envelope with the photographic material. On the cover page he found an entry referencing the box with Jack's belongings, but strangely enough there was no mention whatsoever on what had happened to Rose's things. He knew, of course, that Mo had taken them so she could return them to Rose. “Have you seen Rose's file?” he asked.

Donna peered into the box and went through the folders strewn across the table. “There isn't one. Maybe it's in her suitcase.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Probably, yeah,” he sniffed. He remained seated, though. He still didn't want to open the suitcase. It was silly, but part of him couldn't bring himself to do it. He returned to the file. Donna's eyes were on him for a minute or so, he could feel it, before she went back to reading too.

As he read, he opened the envelope to look at the photos Rose and Nicholas had taken of the dragon. It was an impressive beast, the sculpture very lifelike. One could see the muscles rippling beneath the, what he imagined to be, leathery skin, and the talons on all four legs looked lethal. The dragon even had opposable thumbs and big toes. And then it dawned on him.

“It's a stone dragon,” he whispered. It was made of the same creamy stone as the façade, and the team had been right: there were no signs of weathering. It looked very new although it had been there for centuries.

“Is it one of the Weeping Angels?” Donna asked.

“The dragon that's there today is made of bronze,” he mused, taking off his glasses. He wasn't quite sure, but the more he thought about the dragon when he'd seen it the previous year, he was sure that it was bronze. It had caught his attention, because the different shades of green of the dragon stood out starkly against the creamy stone of the façade. “It could have been a Weeping Angel. They can't move as long as someone is looking at them.”

“Marienplatz is a very busy square, isn't it? It couldn't have moved and... taken Rose, could it?” Donna reasoned.

“Maybe at night, but then it could have fled long before 1938. The question is if it'd been dormant or patient...” The Doctor's voice trailed off.

“Or if it was a Weeping Angel in the first place. You said that some things are different here from your original universe,” Donna said.

He rubbed his hands over his face. If the Weeping Angels of this universe were different, that could mean they were even worse than in his – maybe they could move even if they were being observed – or they could be less powerful.

“Maybe it was another creature that only looks like a Weeping Angel. This is a dragon – as far as I'm concerned the two are entirely different,” Donna went on. “Angels are usually something good – apart from fallen angels, of course, – and dragons are the dangerous ones. What if it's the other way round?”

“You mean the dragon is not a Weeping Angel but it's basically peaceful?” the Doctor said, looking up.

Donna shrugged. He could see she felt a bit sheepish for suggesting something like that, but her logic made sense. He leaned back in his chair, playing with his glasses as he considered her idea. “Maybe, yeah,” he said softly. He didn't want to hope, to cling to this idea only to find it proven wrong when he went on reading the report.

Slipping his glasses back on, he continued reading, this time aloud.

The four of us hurried across the square to where the dragon was. It was moving visibly now, twitching its tail and stretching its wings. Dust and small pieces of debris rained down on us. Mr Howard took a sample of the dust. We think it was some sort of protective shell the dragon was shedding. Because it was dark we could not see what was underneath the stone (for simplicity's sake we shall stick to this term until we know what it really is). It was breathing and blinking, its forked tongue smelling the air.

There were few people around and they ran away screaming as soon as they realised what was going on. Police arrived, and the fire brigade, but they kept their distance. Their head of operations approached Captain Harkness and ordered us to withdraw, but Captain Harkness made it quite clear to him that we were his best hope of resolving this. In the end, the Head of Operations had the area cordoned off and provided us with a ladder from one of the fire engines.

By now it was clear that the dragon was obviously not one of the Weeping Angels like Miss Tyler believed. Although we were now faced with a new riddle, she reassured us that anything was better than the Weeping Angels. Everything indicates that the legend Fräulein Grandauer had researched in the archive is based more firmly in reality. The dragon had probably covered itself in a protective shell to recover from the injuries it suffered when it first climbed up from the well. Why it was waking right then we cannot tell.

It seems, however, attracted to the tear in the fabric of time and space that we discovered once it had disappeared from its perch.

The firemen set up some lights which turned out to irritate the dragon. Captain Harkness ordered them to be removed before he climbed the ladder to be able to make contact with the dragon. It was still quite immobile because of its protective shell. Captain Harkness wanted to reassure the dragon that it was safe and that we had come to help. The beast appeared to listen to what he had to say but he could not tell if it had understood his words.

Unfortunately, I cannot report in full detail what happened next, or how. Miss Tyler asked Captain Harkness to descend so she could move up and talk to the beast. Both Mr Howard and I protested against this. Captain Harkness acknowledged our objections, but decided that she should try anyway.

The Doctor faltered, then paused. He felt a bit breathless although he had read calmly, trying to infuse Mo's semi-formal tone with gravitas and take comfort from it. Still, his heart was hammering in his chest, and he found it hard to go on reading. He wasn't sure if he could voice what had happened then.

“Well, at least it's not a Weeping Angel. That's good, isn't it?” Donna said.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I'm... I'm not sure if I can go on.”

“Well, I could... if you want me to,” she suggested. She didn't seem very sure either, but in contrast to him her curiosity seemed to win over it. Or maybe she was just a lot braver than he was. For a moment or two it seemed impossible to give the document to her; it was as if his fingers had a mind of their own, but then Donna tugged gently at the pages and they came free.

His fingers were shaking when he slid his glasses off his nose and folded them up. He kept a tight grip around them with both hands.

Miss Tyler climbed the ladder. Her voice was barely audible, but she appeared to make some cooing sounds to reassure the dragon. It remained calm, and then she extended her hand for it to examine it and the tips of its tongue darted out of its fanged mouth to sniff her. A low rumbling sound filled the air, and a hissing. The dragon's tail began to wag and we had to take a step back. Miss Tyler, however, remained calm but she didn't speak. The dragon seemed to get more excited the longer it kept in touch with her. Somehow, they were communicating, but again I'm afraid I have to say I have no idea how.

The more excited the dragon got, the more nervous some of the police and firemen got, and when the dragon shook off a big chunk of its shell with a flick of its tail someone must have panicked. The movement sprayed the stone in all directions. A gunshot cracked in response, the bullet hitting the dragon's right hind leg. It roared in pain and jerked violently. The ladder slipped and Miss Tyler fell.

Donna stopped there. He stood, his glasses clattering onto the table, and moved away from the table. Again, he ran his hands over his face and sighed. “I'm sorry,” he said eventually. “Please go on.”

Cat chose that moment to appear and demand his breakfast. Grateful for the interruption, the Doctor filled his bowls and set them down. Cat pounced on the food at once, and he stroked him a couple of times before he rejoined Donna at the table. “How bad is it?” he asked.

“I could give you a summary if you want,” Donna said.

He didn't want a summary. For some reason he wanted to hear everything. There might be a clue in it, and he didn't want to miss anything. “No, go on.”

Captain Harkness rushed to her side, calling for the Head of Operations to retreat further and to leave them alone. As he knelt down by Miss Tyler's side to check on her – that she seemed to be unconscious from the fall – the dragon shook off most of its protective shell and tumbled down the façade. Its muscles must have been weak from centuries of stasis. But it soon climbed to its feet and padded, hissing and spitting, to where Captain Harkness and Miss Tyler were. Again, its tongue darted in and out. Its leg was bleeding profusely. It was all Mr Howard and I could do not to interfere. Hurt animals are dangerous, and we had no way of telling what the dragon would do to Captain Harkness and Miss Tyler.

The dragon appeared to lick or sniff Miss Tyler, but we could not see properly. Its massive body and wings obscured everything. Suddenly, its body began to glow and it seemed to calm down. A shimmer rose from it, then its contours blurred.

At the same time, it began to be apparent that the tear in space and time through which Miss Tyler had been transported here opened because the dragon had abandoned its spot on the façade. I have never seen anything like it. It was basically light coming through an open door – in this case like a crack in stone. The light was blinding and there was a loud rushing sound as light streamed out of the crack and things were sucked into it. The dragon turned and jumped into the crack, Captain Harkness clinging to it with Miss Tyler in his arms, and then they were gone. The crack closed with a thunderclap. There was no trace of it in the stone façade of the New Town Hall. There was not a trace of them, apart from the dragon's blood on the ground and the debris of its stone shell.

Where ever the dragon had gone, it had taken both Captain Harkness and Miss Tyler with it. We began to investigate at once, but we could not pick up any readings apart from residual energy signatures. There was nothing left, and after we had taken care of the audience according to protocol and made sure that we had not missed anything, we returned to London on 17th May.

Captain Jack Harkness went missing in action as of 2212 hours, Friday, 13th May 1938.

Donna put down the document.

“Thank you, Donna,” the Doctor said softly. He fished his mobile out of his pocket to call Pete with the news.

“You've never heard from Jack again, have you?” he asked.

“I'm afraid not,” Pete replied dejectedly. “Listen, I'd... I know it's probably not a good time to ask you this, but I'd like to tell Jackie myself. Without Tony there. Do you... can he stay with you after kindergarten? I'd rather he isn't around when... when I tell Jackie.”

“She's not dead, Pete,” the Doctor almost snarled.

Pete was silent for a beat or two. The Doctor tried to calm down and to apologise, but Pete beat him to it. “I hope you're right, Doctor. But we... we need to be prepared.”

“I'm not sure if I can go through this again,” the Doctor replied.

“None of us are,” Pete said.

The Doctor sighed and ducked his head. “We don't know how much timed passed between Rose's disappearance and her turning up in 1938. It seems to have happened on the same day. We have more than twelve hours to go until they vanish in 1938. I'm not ready to give up yet.”

He could hear Pete's smile as he said, “I wouldn't have expected anything less from you Doctor.”

“When do I have to pick Tony up?”

-:-

Donna's idea had been to restore the garden furniture to its former glory. The wind would make the paint dry quite quickly, but now that Tony was coming they dismissed the idea. “I'm glad Tony's coming. He'll be much better at distracting you than I could ever hope to be,” she said.

Panic made his stomach clench. Donna was right about Tony, but he didn't want her to go. Besides, Tony wouldn't be there to keep him busy at night. “You're not leaving, are you?”

“No, of course not,” she said.

She stayed at the Willows, reading and watching the babyphone while he picked Tony up from kindergarten. Pete had called to inform his teacher that he would pick him up to prevent any confusion, particularly with the scare about Rose's stalker still so fresh in everyone's memory. Luckily, he'd picked up Tony before so there was no hassle about identifying himself to the staff. Tony was excited to see him, and very nearly didn't even ask why his mum wasn't picking him up. “Oh, I don't know,” the Doctor lied, “She told me someone needed her help.”

“Can we go to the park?” Tony asked. He slid his small hand into the Doctor's as soon as they stepped onto the pavement.

The Doctor cringed inwardly. He had been very reluctant to leave the Willows at all. Reason told him that there was plenty of time left until Rose could return – but then again, how was he to know that instead of being delayed she might be early? It wasn't so much that he didn't trust Donna. He just wanted to be there when Rose returned. “We can go for an hour or so. Your mum told me that you'll have to nap. And after that, we could make some pizza. Donna's there too.”

“Oh! What about Sam?”

“Sam's at his grandparents'.”

“How do you make pizza? Can I have olives?”

The Doctor grinned, tightening his grip around the boy's hand as they went to the park.

-:-

Jackie had had a good cry when Pete picked their son up after tea. He thanked the Doctor and Donna profusely for looking after Tony. “I'd love to have him here overnight, but...” the Doctor said.

“It's the night when,” Pete said. “I understand.”

“Yeah.”

“Jackie'll have your neck if you don't call us as soon as...” Again, he trailed off. The Doctor had to fight a bout of annoyance, although he knew that Pete was trying to protect them all. He was all the more surprised when he suggested that Sophie join them that night.

“She's the la– no offence, but I think Donna and I will be fine,” he said.

Pete nodded. “Take care, Doctor. And thanks.” The Doctor could sense that there was something else Pete wanted to say, but when the pause lengthened, Pete turned and went to his car, where Tony was waiting, strapped into his car seat.

They settled down in the library after Tony and Pete had left, Donna with her book, and he with Sue's essay. The babyphone sat on the table behind the sofa, and he eyed it suspiciously. He kept glancing at his watch, finding it hard to concentrate on the text in front of him. Whenever he looked up, he found Donna looking at him, smiling an encouraging smile.

“Do you think she'll be... severely injured? From the fall?” the Doctor asked at quarter past eight. Until then he'd successfully avoided thinking of it, picturing Rose still and bleeding on the ground, her limbs twisted at impossible angles, her eyes staring, unseeing, up at him. Groaning, he pinched the base of his nose to get rid of the image. He dropped his pen and dropped the essay onto the floor.

“She could have been lucky. She doesn't seem to have fallen from a great height,” Donna said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I can get my bag, though, if it's... of any comfort.”

The Doctor nodded. He went back to his reading as Donna stood to get the bag.

At quarter to nine, he gave up. “The babyphone is working, right?”

Donna showed him the green diode indicating that the battery had sufficient power and the device was, indeed, fully operational.

Cat's mewl made them both jump.

“What are you doing up here?” the Doctor asked in surprise. Now that he thought about it, Cat had been restless the whole afternoon and evening. He'd hardly touched his food and had wandered about the kitchen like a miniature panther in its cage. For a moment the Doctor thought Cat would realise where he was and hurry down the stairs but instead he came running towards him and leapt on his lap.

“He's trembling all over,” the Doctor said as he began to stroke Cat.

“He's been upset for a while,” Donna mused. “He'd come for a cuddle but disappear again.”

“Do you think he senses something?” He kept stroking the cat. He was clearly upset by something. Usually, he purred quite loudly when he was being stroked, but he remained quiet, pressing himself into the crook of the Doctor's body.

The babyphone crackled.

Cat rose with a terrified mewl and hid in the darkest, most inaccessible spot he could find.

The Doctor and Donna jumped as well.

The Doctor's stomach lurched and for a moment he felt light-headed. Donna had gone quite pale. They sat, unmoving and very quiet, but the babyphone was quiet again. The Doctor wondered how often it had done that before. Maybe it had crackled without any of them noticing. But Cat was terrified.

Then he realised. He hadn't been listening to his own senses. The tickling at the back of his neck was not a reaction to the shampoo but his sense of Time trying to alert him. And he hadn't been listening.

He groaned.

“Are you all right?” Donna asked, shifting on the sofa to sit closer to him.

“I... I don't know,” he admitted, sighing. “I think I should be feeling something, along with Cat, but I don't. At least I... I'm not sure.” He could feel tears of frustration welling up. Anger rose within him. He hated this, hated being so... crippled. He'd always relied on his Time Lord senses, and now he was reminded of their loss – or lessening – once again.

Donna drew him into her arms. She dropped a kiss on his hair and held him, shushing him. “It's okay. Just trust yourself.”

The babyphone crackled at the same time as Cat hissed and spat in his hiding place and the Doctor sat bolt upright. He could feel it now, the restlessness, something was coming, the stirring, something was not quite right.

He jumped to his feet and rushed to Rose's room, fumbling for the key where he'd deposited it on the top ledge of the door frame. The door wouldn't open quickly enough, and by the time he pushed it open, he was breathless, his hair an epic mess. The whole room was crackling with energy; the detector was blaring its alarm and he rushed to switch it off but made sure that it kept taking readings. He placed the device he'd nicked from Torchwood next to it to get even more data.

The air in the centre of the small room was rippling and shimmering, much like a street on a hot day. And then, with a crack and a flare of lightening, the fabric of space and time tore, disgorged a limp body and closed up, then faded as if nothing had happened.

The room was eerily silent.

It took the Doctor three heartbeats to understand what had happened.

Then he launched himself at Rose's still form.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Half an hour later, the Willows was crawling with people.

Rose was still lying on the floor in her room, with only Donna for company. The Doctor had brought a blanket to cover her up; she'd been freezing in her nightie, but Donna wouldn't allow her to move until the Torchwood doctor had arrived and ensured that she didn't have a spine injury. Carlisle would bring some of her advanced diagnostic equipment and tell Donna what Rose already knew. That she was fine, apart from a splitting headache and some scratches and bruises. Caked in the Guardian's blood and the debris of its protective shell, Rose felt filthy. She just wanted a bath and to be left alone with the Doctor so she could fall asleep in his arms. She was so so tired.

“Can I have some water please?” Rose asked, her throat dry.

Donna had shooed everyone out of the small room, including the Doctor. Jackie had been there briefly, and Pete, holding an anxious Tony by the shoulders. Lucas and Sophie had arrived at some point, as well as some stranger she didn't recognise.

“Where's the Doctor?” Rose wanted to know. It was so hard to stay awake. It had been a long day, she hurt and Donna's precautions only served to frustrate her.

“I'm here, my love,” he said softly. He stepped into her line of vision behind Donna, a bottle of water with a straw in his hand. “I thought you might be thirsty.”

Rose managed a smile. “The walls are still bare.”

Donna stood to make room for the Doctor. The Doctor gently placed the straw between her lips and she began to suck. She felt a bit silly, drinking like this, but the cool water was divine. “Slowly,” he said softly. “I... I worked on other rooms in the house.”

“I want to get out of here. Please,” Rose pleaded, her eye stinging with tears of relief and exhaustion.

“Carlisle will be here any minute,” he said, both to her and Donna. He ran his hand over her hair, trying to be brave for her. His eyes, she saw, were just as wet as hers.

“Good,” Rose whispered, swallowing to soothe her parched throat. “I'm cold and I'm tired. And my arm's falling asleep.”

The Doctor laughed, and although the corners of his eyes crinkled he still looked sad and scared. She reached up to touch him, but he caught her hand, kissed her knuckles and placed her hand gently on the blanket. “Just a minute, Rose,” he whispered, stroking her knuckles with his thumb.

Rose was very relieved when Emma Carlisle arrived right then, but she was also reluctant to let go of the Doctor's hand. He bent to brush a kiss over her temple before he and Donna left.

“I'd hoped I wouldn't see you for a while,” Emma said, taking the Doctor's place.

Rose managed to smile. “I'm all right.”

“You fell off a ladder and travelled through time,” Emma pointed out.

“Nothing I haven't done before then,” Rose grinned.

Emma opened her bag and took out her medical scanner. Rose knew that it wouldn't take long for her to complete a full body scan, but still she was impatient for her to be done with it. The scanner was a device they had salvaged from a crashed spaceship, and it had saved lots of lives since then. It made injuries that were hard or time-consuming to diagnose with traditional methods visible within minutes. Rose closed her eyes as Emma started to run the scanner over her body.

“You're dehydrated, and there are a couple of cuts and bruises, but other than that,” she paused, reading the display. “You were really lucky.”

“I'm exhausted,” Rose said, slowly sitting up, rubbing the arm that had fallen asleep.

The doctor furrowed her brow, passing Rose the bottle of water. “Take it easy for a while and come to see me on Monday. Then I'll decide when you're fit to return to work. Are you in any pain?”

Rose shook her head, then drank deeply.

Emma nodded. “Good. I'll send everyone home so you can get some rest. Otherwise your parents won't leave for a while.”

Rose smiled gratefully. Although she wanted to see her parents she didn't feel up to talking to them. “Thank you.”

The Doctor joined her in the bathroom when she was already in the shower. Getting rid of the grime and blood felt great, and she was glad to have her shower gel rather than the bar of soap. Brushing over the tender spots and cuts on her skin didn't hurt too much; still she lingered at her scars. They were a constant reminder of what could have happened that fateful day, and she realised how lucky she had been and how dangerous the situation had been. The Guardian hadn't meant any harm, quite the contrary. It was only natural that he had been scared by the gunshot.

After she'd finished with her hair she stepped out of the shower stall. The Doctor was awaiting her with a towel and she let him wrap her in it and then in his arms. He smelled of Doctor and sunlight and old books and a little bit of sweat. She inhaled deeply, as if she needed to convince all of her senses that he was really there.

“Is everyone gone?” she whispered.

“Donna's still here,” he said.

“Kiss me.”

The Doctor loosened his embrace a little so he could hold her better, letting go of the towel in the process so Rose could wrap her arms around his neck. Their lips touched gently at first, reassuringly, but when they deepened the kiss it became more urgent. Rose tasted him, and in her need to refresh her memory she almost plundered his mouth. He let her until they both had to come up for air.

They laughed, their foreheads resting against each other.

Rose was the first to speak. “I was so scared.”

He cupped her face and looked at her intently. She could see her feelings reflected in the darkness of his eyes, and for a moment she thought he'd tell her that he had been scared as well. She wasn't sure she could handle hearing the words. She was reaching up to rest her fingers on his lips, but he beat her to it. “I know. It's over now.”

His kiss was infinitely more gentle this time and she allowed herself to relax. Her exhaustion washed through her again, even more powerful now, and she felt herself sag against him.

“Bed?” he whispered.

“'d be lovely,” she mumbled.

-:-

“How long have you been watching me?” she asked, her voice raspy from sleep. She'd rolled over as she woke, slowly blinking her eyes open. The room was bathed in brilliant morning sunshine, the dappled floorboards apparently moving as the wind played in the willow trees outside. The Doctor was sitting at the foot-end, propped up against the tall post, looking at her. She reached out to touch his outstretched foot, running her thumb over his sole. He flinched briefly at the gesture but didn't pull back.

“A while,” he said. He was still wearing his t-shirt and pyjamas, and hadn't attempted to tame his tousled hair. “How do you feel?”

“Still knackered, but definitely better,” she said, moving her thumb over his toes one by one. How pink they were.

He tried to smile, but he faltered and gave up. Rose moved quickly to kneel between his thighs as he burst into tears. His grip around her was tight, and she winced as he touched some of spots that were badly bruised, but she held him fast, trying to put as much strength into her grip as he did in his.

He curled his fingers into the material of her oversized t-shirt as he wept. His whole body trembled from the sobs and Rose wondered if he'd cried at all while she was gone. She had finally broken down the previous day – it seemed ages ago now, which in a way it was. It had done her good. Rose began to rock him gently back and forth, dropping kisses onto his head, whispering to him. Nothing could have made her let go of him right then, not even her own discomfort as her legs began to fall asleep from the awkward position in which they were trapped.

Eventually, he went still and let go of her. His red eyes broke her heart, and it was all she could do not to cry in sympathy and shame. She had done this to him.

“Lie down for a while, I'll hold you,” she whispered, kissing him gently.

“You won't go away?”

“No,” she said. She scooted towards the middle of the bed, dragging him with her by the hand. Eventually, he curled himself around her body, his head cradled on her shoulder, one of his legs draped over her thighs and his arm wrapped around her midriff. There was nothing erotic about their embrace, it was just about the need for reassurance and comfort.

“Sleep, my love,” Rose whispered, playing with his hair, inhaling his scent.

She hadn't asked him once since her return how he was. Although she had seen the answer in his eyes and his face, she had been too afraid to ask, for entirely selfish reasons. She knew that if he broke down she would probably too. He had had no way of contacting her, whereas she had at least had the chance to get in touch with him through letters. Had he got them? The one from Munich, and the postcards? The one she had entrusted to Pete?

A shiver coursed through her. Please, please, she thought, let him not. If he had... they must have thought her gone. Which, looking back, wasn't that far-fetched a notion. She had literally vanished off the face of the Earth. If the Doctor hadn't found her letters – and she remembered now that they hadn't found anything while cleaning up the Willows; how could she have forgotten that? He hadn't found her letters.

She let go of the Doctor's shoulder and wiped away her tears.

“Don't cry,” the Doctor whispered.

Rose smiled. “I'm trying.”

He shifted, propping his head on his elbow and using his free hand to help her wipe her damp cheeks. Her tears were flowing more freely now. “It's all right, Rose.”

His dark eyes were tenderness itself. She wondered how he could be like this after all that had happened, after his own breakdown. How could he be so calm? She wanted to say something, but the only thing she managed to say was, “I love you.”

“Quite right too,” he replied, kissing the tip of her nose. “You're very pale, Rose. Are you all right?”

“I'm famished and tired. That must be it,” Rose said, tracing the contours of his stubbly jaw with her fingers. He looked so much thinner. What had she done to him?

“Fancy a spot of breakfast then?” he said, plucking her fingers from his chin and kissing each of them, and then their backs as he held her hand.

Donna was reading the morning newspaper when Rose joined her and the Doctor in the kitchen a while later. Breakfast was ready and the table set with all kinds of delicious dishes. It reminded her of the sun-drenched mornings they had spent on the verandah of the rehab unit in the Chianti Hills not a year ago.

“You're as pale as a ghost,” Donna observed in concern as she settled in the seat opposite her. “Are you sure you're all right?”

Rose wasn't, but she didn't have it in her to tell them. “I guess the trip home was more exhausting than I thought. At least it was more so than when I travelled back in time.”

She saw the Doctor and Donna exchange glances but pretended not to notice. A movement of something black caught her attention. She watched the black cat settle down on the wide wooden windowsill of the bay window.

“That's Cat,” the Doctor said, putting a mug of tea before her. She picked it up; it was hot and very very sweet. She gently blew over it. “He came through the tear in your room.”

“Makes you wonder who or what else has come through it,” she said, glad to be able to change the topic.

“Oh, that's quite easily answered,” Donna said, buttering her toast. Both Rose and the Doctor looked at her in surprise. “The files about that tear are in the box Eoin dropped off yesterday. I had a look through them. They aren't eyes only, are they?” she asked, blushing.

“What did they say?” Rose asked, eager to get some answers. They could deal with the confidentiality issue later.

“Apparently, no one has ever noticed someone come through – you and Cat are the only ones,” Donna said. “Five disappearances have been recorded and investigated, but there was never any real closure – the files just said the people had disappeared under mysterious circumstances.”

Rose, who had been balancing her spoon on the edge of the bowl with her fruit salad in it, dropped her hands into her lap. “Well, they were transported back in time. My guess is that they were sucked through the same corridor as me. Agnes wanted to check files with the Munich police about any mysterious appearances or disappearances on the square. But of course that's assuming that not only the place of the tear is fixed – my room and the corner of Weinstrasse and Marienplatz – but also the time frame. If those people landed in 1938 as well, they've long since died.”

They were silent for a while. “What about Jack?” the Doctor asked eventually. “It says in the case file that you and he disappeared along with the dragon.”

“The Guardian sent him home,” Rose said in a very soft voice.

“The Guardian?” the Doctor asked.

“The dragon. He's a Guardian. It's his job to protect tears in space and time until they can be sealed. Only he was injured and couldn't do his job properly. He had to cast himself in a protective shell – much like stone – and bide his time. He did his best, but apparently there were some accidents anyway. When I climbed up to him he saw that I have looked into the heart of a TARDIS. I realised what he was and begged him to take me home. Only... Jack was holding on to me and I was thinking of him, and... well, he was sent back to the 51st century as well. It's his home, not 1930s London. He was stranded there,” Rose explained. Standing, she added, “I've made such a mess of things.” She wrapped her arms around herself despite the warm sunny day and went to perch on the window sill Cat had chosen for his nap.

“Why? You're home, and so's Jack,” Donna said.

“Donna, Jack was engaged,” the Doctor said. “And if my guess is correct, his fiancée was pregnant when all this happened.”

Rose turned around in surprise. “How...?”

“Claire Manning is his daughter. She showed me his photograph. He disappeared before she was born.”

Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob. The Doctor jumped up and joined her, putting an arm around her. “What is it?”

“He... he didn't even know Estelle was pregnant. And I... I could have told him, but I didn't, and now... another girl has had to grow up without a father,” Rose said, crying softly.

“Oh, dear,” Donna said. “Look, Rose, you haven't made a mistake. Jack left because he wanted to, and you couldn't possibly have known he would hitch a ride with you and the Guardian.”

“He told me he was going to leave the first chance he got,” Rose protested. “I should have told him. At least I should have asked him what would become of Estelle. If he wanted to take her with him.”

“You didn't know, Rose,” the Doctor insisted.

“Besides, it wasn't up to you to tell him about the baby,” Donna added. She stood and pulled a couple of tissues out of the box on the breakfast bar to give them to Rose who gratefully took them and cleaned her nose.

“You could tell Claire, though,” the Doctor suggested. “She doesn't know what became of him. I'm sure she'd appreciate hearing some stories about him.”

“You haven't told her?”

“No, Rose. I didn't want to lie to her.”

After they had settled back down Rose said that she still wanted to research the disappearances, if just to close the files. “Maybe I'll find some relatives who'd like to know,” she added.

“It's the proverbial needle,” Donna said. “If the tear is fixed in time and space your chances are quite good – but what if some of those poor people were taken to the Lost Ages?”

The Doctor sighed. “Donna's right. Just don't get your hopes up too high. Do you think the tear has been sealed now? In your room, I mean,” he asked, sipping his tea.

Rose closed her eyes and drank deeply. The warm tea didn't work wonders as usual, but at least it reassured her. She was still so incredibly tired she couldn't wait to return to her bed. But she didn't want the Doctor or Donna fuss about her. “The Guardian told me it would be, but let's call Lucas, just to be on the safe side.”

The Doctor pursed his lips, and the dimple showed in his cheek. Rose exchanged glances with Donna. “Has something happened?”

“Torchwood made a bit of a mess of things,” Donna said.

“Oh?”

The Doctor didn't reply. He didn't even change the topic.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The Doctor reached for Rose's hand as Donna started up her car and pulled out of the gravel drive. He didn't really want her to go, but he also wanted to be alone with Rose, not only to welcome her home and to show her just how much he had missed her, but also to talk about the things that had happened. He smiled gently to himself. There had been a time when he'd rather set the coordinates to random than to talk. Running was so much easier than to face whatever it was that threatened to prick his cosy Time-Lord bubble. He had always managed to protect himself, but no more. He was part human, with a healthy sprinkling of Donna. Running was no longer an option; he had learned that the hard way.

Absent-mindedly, he rubbed his leg.

“Are you all right?” Rose asked softly, gesturing at his hand on his leg as he sent her a puzzled look.

“Oh. Oh yes. I am. You?” he asked.

“I am if you are,” Rose replied and tugged at his hand. Inside, she set to work clearing the remnants of the breakfast away so he didn't get a chance to sit her down and talk. Maybe, he wondered, it was too soon. Maybe she needed to return properly first. Maybe it would be better to let her set the pace. He had learned to wait.

The Doctor, however, had nearly forgotten DI Hari Younis. The detective had told him the previous night that he would be back in the morning to talk to Rose. When he arrived, the Doctor told him the truth, just as he had been instructed to by Pete. Pete had told him that Younis was one of the few detectives at the Met who knew about Torchwood. The Doctor bristled a bit at this. While he realised that he was not a full-time employee at Torchwood and he tended to get information on a need-to-know basis, this seemed like something he needed to know and he wondered what else they might keep from him. It didn't help that his interactions these last few days hadn't given him a great sense of confidence in Torchwood as a whole. Sophie Doyle's apparent reluctance and lack of powers of self-assertion had caused Pete to step in as director as well as father, which did nothing to diminish his feelings of antipathy.

“I'm glad to see you safely returned, Rose,” Hari said, capping his pen once he was finished taking notes.

Rose nodded and smiled her Vitex smile. She had been very quiet during the whole conversation, and had, if possible, even gone paler. “It's good to be back. Travelling in time is like going to an exotic foreign country, even if you turn up in your own street.”

“I'm not sure I'd like to try it, given the chance,” Hari said.

Neither Rose nor the Doctor said anything, and both were glad when Hari left soon after. His mind was reeling with questions, and he wanted to talk to Rose about them, but he had never seen her so pale and fragile before. She needed time to recover, physically and emotionally. His heart clenched. He would give her all the time she needed to talk to him when she was ready.

He closed the distance between them and enfolded her in his arms. It was so good to just hold her, to just be with her and listen to the ebb and flow of her breath and the steady beat of her heart. Her warmth. He'd always loved her warmth. And her scent. It had, he realised, become his home.

“I've missed you so,” he whispered, unable to hold back his emotions, gently swaying as he held her. He'd wanted to return the good-bye letter to her, but he decided not to. Something was not quite right, and he held her a little closer as he realised.

“Doctor,” Rose began.

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry.”

He drew in a shuddering breath. “It's okay.” Cupping the back of her head, he dropped a kiss onto her hair. “It's okay.” He inhaled her scent deeply. It was so much more intense than his memory.

“I'm so exhausted,” she mumbled against his shoulder.

He swallowed, closing his eyes. Had Emma missed something as she'd scanned Rose? Would it have been better for Rose to spend the night in the Infirmary? “What about a nap before we go to your parents'?” he suggested. Jackie had implored him that they join them for lunch, and while he could understand that they needed to see her, he'd rather they could just stay at the Willows and recover.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked, raising her head from his shoulder.

He nodded.

“Make love to me?”

His first impulse was to say yes. He so wanted to feel her and be inside her, and sleepy sex was so very enjoyable, but Rose looked so fragile. Although he knew she hated being wrapped in cotton-wool, he had a feeling that it wouldn't be a good idea. “How about we cuddle up naked and sleep and see how you feel when you wake? You look so exhausted,” he suggested instead.

Stepping away from him, Rose looked crestfallen. “Yeah.”

He took her upstairs to their bedroom. The sun had moved and the shadows from the foliage were moving on the bare walls and over the painted leaves. It was beautiful, and it reminded him of the peace he'd felt lying beneath the olive trees. When he was naked, he looked up at Rose. She had only taken off her jeans and was staring, transfixed, at the shifting patterns of light and leaves.

“Mo painted them,” he said. Suddenly he wasn't so sure he liked them. Mo said in her letter that she had painted them for Rose and him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she'd painted them because she'd loved her. Lying beneath the leaves would feel weird, a constant reminder that he could lose her quite easily. It was a miracle she hadn't moved on; the Other would have wanted her to, wanted her to have a brilliant life and not put all her time and energy into the mad enterprise of building the dimension cannon, only to be rewarded for all her efforts with him. He didn't move.

Rose remained standing with her back to him, equally still. “She painted them for us, Doctor,” she eventually said, turning towards him. “I told her about how homesick you were when we were lying beneath a willow tree in Munich. I was homesick too, and she painted them for us so we'd never have to feel homesick again.”

The Doctor was close to telling her that Mo had loved her, that he knew she'd loved her. But this wasn't the time and have it possibly lead to an argument. He suddenly felt very tired. “I...” he began.

“We can paint them over,” Rose offered so softly he almost didn't hear it.

“No. No, I love them. It's... I just don't know what to say, Rose,” he said, frustrated, again, by his feeling of helplessness. One would have thought that it would be over now that Rose was back.

With a sigh, Rose undressed. The Doctor winced as he watched her reveal both her old scars and the new cuts and bruises. She was black and blue all over, and he wasn't quite sure where he could touch her, how he could touch her without hurting her. Rose caught him staring and she blushed a little. “I wouldn't want to either,” she said, quickly slipping beneath the duvet.

“What?” he asked, startled.

“Touch me. Make love to me. I must look a fright,” she said.

“I don't want to hurt you, Rose,” he replied. There was a pause.

“Will you at least hold me?” she asked. “Please, I need to feel you.”

He nodded and slid into bed beside her. She promptly draped herself over him, just like he'd curled up around her earlier that morning. The feeling of her warmth and her skin against his sent shivers of delight through him, and he could feel the beginnings of an erection, but he quickly fought it down. Rose had realised that she was in no shape to make love, but she could never deny him when she noticed what she'd done to him. He wrapped his arms around her and began to caress her. Soon after, her breath evened out as she fell asleep.

-:-

It was heartbreaking to see Tony reunited with his sister. He wanted to hug her close as she squatted down but he was very careful. Only when Rose tightened her hold on him did he get a little bolder and put all the strength of his little body and all his love for her into his embrace. The Doctor averted his eyes. Pete and Jackie must have told him that something had happened to his sister and that she might not come back.

Pete put a hand on his shoulder and steered him into the family room to give Rose and Tony some space. The Doctor sat down on the sofa, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. He took a deep breath and looked up. Pete and Jackie were sitting on the sofa opposite him. “We had to tell him, Doctor,” he said.

The Doctor nodded. “I understand.”

“It wasn't because we didn't believe she would return. It was to protect him.”

“Couldn't you have left him that piece of innocence, though?” the Doctor asked. “There really was no reason to tell him.”

Pete sighed. “We told him before you received Rose's letter.”

“How is she?” Jackie asked. “She looks... awful.”

“I don't know,” the Doctor said. “She says she's all right, but I'm not sure she really is.” He sighed. There had never been a time when he couldn't trust her. She was probably trying to protect him after she had held him this morning as he'd cried, which must have been a shock. But he didn't need that kind of protection any more. He wanted to be there for her.

“Give her some time,” Pete said.

The Doctor leaned back against the cushions. In a way, sitting there now didn't feel very different from when they'd waited for news about Rose's stalker. He felt just as helpless. Giving her time was the only thing he could do, but he was afraid of losing her if he did. It was so easy to retreat, and she'd done it before, to protect herself, back when they'd been travelling. A lifetime ago.

“She's exhausted,” he said. “That's why we're a little late. She was napping, and I almost couldn't bring myself to wake her.”

“Emma did say that she was all right, didn't she?” Jackie asked in alarm.

“She did. I think it's the enormity of what has happened finally crashing down on her. And I don't imagine that she got a lot of rest in Munich either,” Pete reasoned. “If you'd like to go to the Seaside, just let us know.”

The Seaside was a place filled with wonderful memories. He and Rose had gone there after the fire so he could relax and recover. When they'd left after a fortnight he'd thought he wouldn't ever want to go there again because of all the angst-filled hours he'd spent there. Back in London, however, he found he was missing the place. It held its very own charm, and he realised that he couldn't imagine it without those memories. There were the good ones as well, very good ones, particularly when they'd just escaped there to get some peace and quiet.

“I'll leave that up to Rose. I'm not sure if she'll want to leave the Willows again so soon,” he said.

Tony and Rose joined them a couple of minutes later. Rose looked better, but she retreated a bit into herself when she entered the room and realised that she had been the topic of the conversation. To everyone's surprise, she ate with gusto, and the Doctor smiled a little. She'd had a rather substantial breakfast; maybe she was really just tired and very hungry.

The afternoon was relaxed. All five of them took a long walk through the grounds, and the Doctor found himself chatting with each of them for a while. On their way back to the mansion, Rose slipped her hand into his and they stayed behind the others a little.

“Mo wrote me a letter,” the Doctor began eventually, brushing his thumb over her Rose's. “She gave us the Willows. She's Henrietta Morton.”

“That's why she seemed so familiar. I couldn't place her when I met her,” Rose said, completely surprised. “I should have known. It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it?”

He nodded, tightening his grip around her hand. “She told me that she loved you. Not platonically, but not romantically either. That's why she gave you the house. She wanted us to be happy there.”

“Aren't we? Happy?” Rose asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. She looked up at him.

“She loved you, Rose.”

Rose looked ahead. Her parents and Tony were outside hearing distance, and the walk to the mansion would take another ten minutes. This wasn't a good place or time to address this, he knew that, but he couldn't help himself. He hated his insecurity. Then Rose returned her attention to him, covering their hands with her free one. “The thing between Mo and me, it was... strange,” she said.

A cold shiver ran down his spine, and he stopped. He wanted to let go of her, but Rose held his hand firm with both of hers. He hesitated, not knowing which thought to articulate first. “Did...” he began, but Rose shushed him with a gentle touch to his cheek.

“I really liked her. She was a great friend. But I love you, Doctor. Nothing can ever change that. I wish I could show you just how much,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

“Rose, I'd love to make love to you, but I'm afraid of hurting you.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” Rose said. “Unless... you can't because I'm...”

The Doctor caught and pressed a kiss into her palm as she dropped it from his cheek. “You are beautiful. It's just...”

Rose sighed. “Yeah, I see.”

“When we were in bed earlier, Rose, I had to fight my... arousal because you looked so beautiful and holding you felt so good but you also looked so lost and vulnerable,” he blurted. “I want to make love to you so badly. I've dreamed of it, of you, with me. And I thought... I thought I'd lost you.”

Rose let go of his hand and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close. “I'm sorry, my love. I'm so sorry.” He returned the force of her embrace, hiding his tears in the crook of her neck. Rose was shaking a little too, and he wondered how often they would hold each other and cry before this was over.

“Let's go home, Doctor,” Rose said eventually.

-:-

The first time they made love was on the staircase. It was rough and it was hurried and they were clumsy. In the tangle of limbs and clothes, Rose pushed him back against the stairs so she could be on top. The edges of the stairs in his back and the limited space made it awkward, but finally they managed to find a position that was halfway tolerable for each of them. Stopping to hurry upstairs wasn't an option. He felt silly with his jeans around his ankles and his trainers on, but he didn't care when Rose pulled her knickers aside and sank down on him.

“Rose,” he groaned. The feeling of being inside her, of feeling her, was overwhelming and so much better than usual. “Rose.” He tried to meet her movements but let her take over, until he realised. “Condom, Rose, we need a–”

“No, not this time, we'll be fine,” she breathed, pulling her shirt up and over her head. “Just... enjoy, yeah?”

Their lips met for a deep kiss. Rose set an urgent rhythm, and because he was bracing himself with one arm, and supporting her with the other one, he couldn't help her crest as quickly as he did. “Touch yourself,” he said. “I've got you.”

They didn't come together, but at least he got the chance to watch her find her release. How breathtaking she was. As she clamped down on his slowly softening penis, she sent another jolt of pleasure through him and his eyes fluttered closed. He would have liked to see more of her.

Rose nearly slumped against him as she tensed and then relaxed. Her cry, his name, were still ringing in his ears when she began to laugh and send more ripples of pleasure through him, like little aftershocks. Maybe, he thought, the staircase wasn't so bad after all.

Somehow, they made it upstairs and into bed, both of them naked like that morning, and wrapped around each other.

“That was...” Rose said, laughing. “Mad!”

“But you loved it,” he chuckled.

“Yes, yes I did. I love you, Doctor,” Rose replied, rolling to lie on her stomach next to him. “I love you so much.”

He swallowed. How could he have ever doubted her? “And I you, Rose.” He shifted to lie on his side so he could trail his fingers over her backside. Her skin was black and blue in places, and there were quite a few scratches and cuts, particularly on her legs. “Only you would go and face an alien in your nightie,” he murmured, leaning forward to steal a kiss and stop her protest.

“I had a good teacher,” she retorted, grinning.

“Oi! You... you're... brilliant!” he laughed, flopping down, using his arm as a pillow. With his free hand, he drew lazy circles around the mole on her shoulder. Then he leaned forward to kiss it. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she said, meaning it. “Still tired. Can we take it slowly?”

He wasn't sure if she was just talking about their lovemaking or about coming home as well. “Of course.”

“Lie back,” Rose whispered, rising to her knees and pushing him back into the bed. Automatically, he dropped his hand to rest on her thigh, trailing the tip of his thumb over the old scar there. “Let me show you how much I love you. Or at least try to.”

He wanted to reassure her, but she covered his lips with her fingers and then with her mouth. He opened up to her for a deep, leisurely kiss, and he thought he could stay doing this forever. Rose settled down half on top of him and he held her, gently caressing her, doing all the things they'd missed out on on the staircase.

Eventually Rose broke the kiss and set out to rediscover his body, mapping him with her mouth and hands. She found all the right places, and he tried to keep still for her, moaning and whispering softly to her. He covered her hand when she cupped his hipbone to encourage her, clenching his fingers into her pillow.

She took him in her mouth and he jerked upwards. He should have expected that move, but it still came as a surprise. She did wonderful things to him, and he strengthened his grip around her hand. Eventually, when she'd driven him close to climax a couple of times, he managed to say, “Don't... I want to be... with you. Please.”

Rose nodded, licking her lips. As she straddled him, he sat up, pushing into her as she placed the tip of his cock at her entrance. His eyes fluttered shut again, and he forced them open to see Rose's expression of rapture. “So good,” she moaned.

Again, he let her set the pace, and he forced his eyes to stay open so he could watch her throughout. Rose noticed and tried to hold his gaze. She moved far more slowly now than she had before, but he loved the leisurely pace because they could kiss and hold each other. He wanted to return some of the pleasure she'd given him and gently shifted them so she was lying on her back with him kneeling between her legs. He couldn't really touch her that way, but he knew that that way he reached places inside her that would make her scream his name.

“Is that okay for you?” he asked, suddenly remembering the injuries on her back.

“Just don't put your weight on me,” she whispered, still holding his gaze.

“You're beautiful, Rose,” he said, leaning forward to run his hands over her breasts and down her torso.

“So are you,” she said, covering his hand where it rested on her curls. She raised her knees to rest her feet by his waist. “Fuck me,” she mouthed, resting one hand on his knee while searching for purchase in the sheets with the other. His hands slid around her thighs to hold her, and then he began to move. His head fell back at the depth of the sensation, and he was glad that the position didn't allow for more powerful strokes. Slowly, he drove both of them to the edge of orgasm. At the very last moment, he moved Rose's legs to rest on his shoulders and he leaned forward. With a couple of more thrusts he drove her to her release with a scream before following her.

Her legs slid off his shoulders as he sat back on his heels, dizzy. He would have liked to stay inside her for a while, but he also wanted to be cuddled. So he slipped out of her and lay down next to her, holding her as she slowly calmed.

“Thank you,” she whispered, snuggling up against him and brushing his hair off his damp forehead. “I feel so much better now.”

He smiled and kissed her, stroking her hair, murmuring endearments to her he had never used before.

“You've never done that before,” she mumbled.

“Done what?” he asked.

“Spoken Gallifreyan,” she said.

“Did I?” He hadn't even noticed he'd used his native language.

“Just now. Sounds beautiful.” Her voice trailed off as she drifted off to sleep.

Kissing her damp forehead, he thought how good it had felt to use the words, how perfect and natural. He looked up at the painted leaves, now still as the sun had moved. He was finally home.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

By Monday Rose had got plenty of sleep and sex and food. Sometimes the Doctor curled up in bed with her to read while she slept. She was glad he was there most of the time. His presence reassured her; she had woken in Munich once after a vivid dream, and had been gutted to find Mo next to her. The first time she woke without him she searched frantically, finally finding him in his study working on his lesson plans for the rest of the semester.

Another time she seduced him there, and they made love right in his chair, half-dressed like on the stairs, but they soon shifted to the window seat that was much more comfortable. There were only a couple of pillows, the proper padding not being finished yet. Rose remained astride him afterwards, panting, their damp foreheads touching.

“Actually, I just wanted to tell you I'm hungry,” Rose said, trailing her fingers down the side of his face.

“I could tell,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. He groaned as she wiggled her hips. He was still inside her, about to soften. “Rose,” he began, “We need to...”

She rose slowly, careful not to lose the condom in the process. As always, she wore one of his shirts, and it dropped around mid-thigh, covering her nudity. The Doctor, however, looked a bit silly, and completely adorable, as he sat there. Rose kissed him before she went to get some tissues and a wet flannel. His eyes had drifted shut when she returned, but otherwise he hadn't moved.

“Hey,” she said softly, kneeling before him.

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. “Hey.” He reached for the tissues, but Rose batted his hand gently away.

“Let me,” she said. She felt his eyes on her as she cleaned him up, and for a moment she was very tempted to do more than just that, but then her stomach rumbled, and both of them laughed.

“I love you, Rose,” he said as she sat back on her heels.

“I don't think I'm ready to go back to work tomorrow,” she said.

“You don't have to,” he said, leaning forward. The worry in his eyes was barely concealed, and for a moment Rose was angry. Angry at herself for doing this to him, angry at him for caring so much – the Doctor never... She stopped herself. John Noble was the man she loved; he was different from the man travelling time and space in a blue box. That man was easily satisfied with her reassurance that she was fine, even when she wasn't. He never stopped long enough to give her more comfort than a hug. He found comfort in the next mad adventure. But not so John Noble. He cared, and sometimes he worried too much.

She sighed. “I'll have to go and see Emma, though.”

“I don't suppose you'd like to go to the Seaside for a couple of days?” the Doctor said, shifting forward in the seat.

The idea was tempting. “I think I'd like to stay here and finish making the Willows our home.”

The Doctor smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. “I thought so.”

“Is that okay?”

“Of course it is. I'd like to move in properly as well,” he said. Then he dropped his voice, slid off the seat and added, “And then I'd like to shag you rotten, in every room of the Willows.”

A jolt of desire shot through her and she bit her lip. “What about the garden?”

“There too.”

Rose smiled. “I'd love that.”

They kissed, Rose nestling between his legs, until her stomach growled again. “Supper?”

“Supper it is, but let me make myself decent first,” he said, laughing. He pulled her to her feet, and she watched him as he put on his pants and trousers. She only got dressed after he'd left, and it took her another moment to follow him.

-:-

His nightmares started that night. They weren't the kind that roused them with his screams ringing in their ears. Rose woke because she felt cold, and when she rolled over to look for the duvet she found the Doctor lying flat on his back, the duvet and his legs a wild tangle. He was panting, and in the dim light she could see he was soaked in sweat. She rolled to her side of the bed again and switched on the lamp on her bedside table.

The Doctor groaned as she blinked.

“Doctor?” she asked, turning back to face him, propped on her elbow. She placed her hand lightly on his chest. Even the material of his t-shirt was damp. “Doctor, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied.

Rose didn't even dignify his lie with an answer.

“It was just a dream,” he said, taking her hand to place a kiss on her knuckles. Then he sat up, running both his hands over his damp face. “I'll just... have a drink of water. Go back to sleep.”

“Doctor!” Rose protested. But he didn't acknowledge her, and so all she could was straighten the duvet and lie back down. She wouldn't accomplish anything by following him when he was like this.

When she woke to the sound of her alarm, the lamp on her bedside table was still on. She woke instantly, fear rushing through her as she sat up. Then she heard the shower. He was still there, but he hadn't returned to their bed after that dream. Rose wasn't sure what to make of that? Should she be touched because he didn't want to disturb her sleep? Or should she be dejected because he thought she couldn't give him the comfort he needed?

Tears welling in her eyes, she got up, found her slippers and went down to the kitchen to put the kettle on. They didn't have much time to talk that morning because of her appointment with Emma Carlisle. The Doctor wanted to go to the Academy to get some work done, and they had agreed to meet in a small restaurant for lunch.

She couldn't stop herself, however, from taking a peek in his room. He had made a makeshift bed on the sofa. Piled next to it on the floor were several books, his glasses perching on top of them, a bottle of water next to it. He hadn't gone back to sleep.

Rose sighed, and just as she was turning to leave her eyes settled on her suitcase. It looked as good as new – she had only ever used it for one journey. But why was it in the Doctor's room? She knelt and unsnapped the locks. Then she carefully lifted the lid. There were her Converse, and the black pair of trousers she and Estelle had bought together. There was a buff-coloured envelope with her name on it tucked into the sleeve in the lid. Convinced that she hadn't put it there, she pulled it out to examine it. Mo had written her name on it.

“Mr Williamson brought it the day before you returned,” the Doctor said from behind her. Rose jumped and dropped the envelope. He entered the room, holding out a mug of hot tea for her. After she had taken it, he squatted next to her. She could smell his shower gel and the shaving foam he used, and he was wearing a white oxford and jeans. He was ready to go to work. “Mo left instructions for the suitcase to be returned to you.”

“Did you...” Rose said, putting the mug down on the floor before her knees, “Did you get my letters?”

He leaned in to brush a kiss over her temple. Then he stood. “They were in the suitcase. She wasn't sure I'd find them, considering all those decades, and she collected them for safekeeping.”

She froze. “You mean you only got them... the day before I returned?”

“It was a good idea, really. Who knew what might have happened to them,” he said. He was being brave for her. But she couldn't even begin to imagine what those days without her must have been like.

“I'm sorry,” she said, her voice catching.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I wasn't sure when would be a good time to give this to you.”

Rose nodded, biting her lower lip as she ducked her head. “Thank you.”

“I... I've got to go, but if you'd rather,” he interrupted himself, dishevelling his too-smooth hair with his hand, “I mean, we... You'll want to go through these things by yourself.”

“Yeah,” Rose said, unsure if that was what she really wanted.

“See you at lunch then?”

Rose raised her head to look at him. She gave him a smile as she said, “Yes.”

He bent to kiss her, then he picked up his satchel and left the house.

Her hands were shaking when she picked up the mug he'd brought her. She took a careful sip and sat staring at the brown and black contents of the suitcase. Then she closed the lid, picked up the envelope and returned to the kitchen. Cat was at his bowl and flinched a little as she walked past. He eyed her suspiciously, then he hurriedly gobbled down the remainder of his breakfast and darted out of the room.

Rose fixed herself a bowl of cereal before she settled down at the kitchen table to open the envelope. There were a couple of photos from the night before their departure, and some of them in Munich. How unhappy she looked in them. Most of the time, the smile was just a mask she wore and she wondered how easily the others had seen through her. There was a photo of her, asleep beneath the willow tree in the English Garden. Her head rested on her jacket and her arm, and there were flecks of light on her cheek where the sunlight filtered through the foliage. She looked peaceful in that one. She'd been so exhausted after the long journey, so unwilling to go to Munich and put even physical distance between her and the Doctor.

There was also a letter.

Dear Rose,

We never got the chance to say good-bye, neither in Munich nor in London, in your own time-line. It won't be long now. I never got in touch with you because who would believe a little old lady, right? You know enough about time-lines and the need to keep them clean to understand why I had to keep my distance. Your adventure, it had to happen. For selfish reasons I must say I'm glad. It was such a pleasure and honour, having known and having worked with you.

There are so many things I'd like to tell you, but time is short. Just let me say that I'm glad you're so happy with John. You've given me happiness too, more than you could possibly imagine. This is why I would like you to have 23 Florence Gardens. For a while, it was Claire Cole's home – Jack's little daughter. She won't remember me by my name. To her, I was always just Auntie. She was happy here. Or at least I hope she was. She missed her father dearly – that bastard. If you ever see him again, give him a decent whack from me. How dare he hitch a ride and disappear and leave Estelle and his little girl?

Anyway. Thank you, Rose, for being part of my life, and for making it better. Enjoy the Willows and make lots of love and babies. Make it a wonderful home.

Love always,  
Mo

Rose laughed and sobbed as she read the letter a second time. Oh Mo. At least she'd found happiness. Rose didn't quite understand why she had made her life better, and she would probably never know, but she was glad that Mo felt that way. At least one person had come out of that adventure happy.

She quickly finished her breakfast, then she hurried to get ready for her appointment with Emma. Just as she'd expected, the doctor was more than happy to give her a week's leave. Another full body scan showed no injuries, and the cuts on her body were healing nicely, thanks to a special ointment that also prevented the skin from scarring. “You should talk with someone, though,” Emma said as she signed the form for her sick leave. “Someone other than the Doctor or you family.”

Rose sighed. “Most of the time I don't even know what to think, much less how to put words to it,” she explained.

“You will, with the right person, you'll see,” Emma reassured her. “Take your time, but please do talk to someone.”

Rose nodded. Maybe she'd talk to Donna. She was the only person outside her family she trusted unconditionally. She also knew the Doctor, which might help. “Thank you, Emma,” she said.

Of course, she couldn't leave without stopping by her father's office for a brief chat. “I've been telling your mother to leave you two alone. Give her a ring, though. She's a bit worried,” he said as they sat in the armchairs in the corner of his Torchwood office.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Have you talked about the stalker?” he asked.

“Younis was there the other day,” Rose said, biting her lip and looking out of the window. “I don't know what to tell the Doctor.”

“That's nonsense, Rose, and you know it. He deserves an explanation. He was worried sick for you. Literally sick. He broke down when he saw the photos of the stalker's... shrine, as it were,” Pete said. Rose wanted to hate him a little for his harsh words. He knew her so well, which was why he needed to be clear if he wanted her to overcome her hesitation.

“I... I'm so ashamed, Dad,” Rose said softly. “It wasn't right. We should have told him.”

Pete sighed. “We did it... well, we had the best of intentions. And instructions from the police.”

Rose gnawed her thumb with her teeth. “You know as well as I do that he would still have tried to do something. Probably something stupid. Sweet, but stupid.”

“See?”

“Yeah,” she said. After a little pause, she asked, “Can I tell Claire Manning about Jack? How I know him?”

“Claire Manning?”

Rose quickly explained who she was. “You trust her?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then tell her, in the strictest of confidence,” Pete said.

-:-

After a leisurely lunch Rose and the Doctor returned to the Willows. They worked in the parlour until the Doctor had to force the paintbrush out of her hand. It was past supper time, and the repetitiveness of painting made her sleepy. There was only a small part of the wall she hadn't painted yet. She pleaded with him to let her finish, to no avail.

He finished it for her, and all she could do was watch. “Aren't you tired?”

His shoulders tensed as he put down the brush. He stared at the wall for a while before he replied, looking over his shoulder. “Of course I am.”

“Will you tell me about your nightmare?” she asked softly.

“Rose.”

“Please.”

“I have to wash this brush, otherwise it'll be ruined. Why don't you make us a couple of sandwiches,” he said, climbing to his feet.

“Yeah,” she said. Of course, they wouldn't talk about his nightmares that evening. Rose let him get away with it. She'd only send him running if she pressed him. As she cleared the kitchen table she picked up the pictures from 1938. Mo had taken one of her, together with Jack and Estelle. She'd take this one when she told Claire about her father, to support her story. That, and a cake. She hadn't made a cake in ages.

“Looks like fun,” the Doctor said. She hadn't heard him approach. She gave him the photos from Mo's envelope.

“It was a bit strange. They tried to cheer me up,” Rose said, looking at him.

“They did a good job,” he said, returning the photos to her.

“Not really,” she whispered, slipping them in the envelope. “I smiled for them.”

“You smiled for me about the stalker,” he said, going to fetch two glasses and a bottle of wine he'd opened. He poured each of them a glass and sat. He was giving her time to collect herself before answering him. She'd hoped she'd get even more time, but she also knew that the longer they put it off, the more awkward it would get.

“Why did you keep him a secret from me?” he asked as she sat down across from him with a plate of sandwiches she had prepared. “I was so... helpless that night you broke down. You'd just written this letter to me.” He pulled the letter from the back pocket of his torn jeans and put it on the table between them.

“I'm sorry, Doctor,” was all she could say.

He sighed. “I know you are, Rose,” he said patiently. “But what I don't understand is why you couldn't trust me? Because this is what it is about. Trust.” He picked up his glass and held it out, waiting for her to clink it with hers. Rose obliged him. He was so calm. There was no sign of the Oncoming Storm. Was it gone? Was it building up and she didn't recognise it? Was it Donna?

“I trust you,” she said. “I trust you with my life. We all thought it would be a good idea not to burden you with it.”

“We all?”

“Dad, Hari and I.”

The Doctor put his glass down thoughtfully. “You know, I can even understand that. But what I don't understand, Rose, is that you listened to them. There was a time when you didn't listen. Not even to... me.”

Rose ran a hand through her hair and bit her lip. “I can't explain. I wanted you to know. That night, when I wrote the letter, I so wanted to tell you.”

He took in a shuddering breath.

“You're disappointed in me, and you're right to,” Rose continued. “I've never been so scared in my life. I faced down Daleks and Cybermen and even Davros. But that freak... it was personal. It was disgusting. I was... so ashamed of myself.”

The Doctor looked up in surprise. They had sipped their wine, but the food sat untouched between them. “What for?”

“For being myself. I felt dirty when we went out for official functions. When ever someone took our picture, I saw him... well... I gave him even more reason to adore or hate me or whatever it was he felt for me. It was my own fault,” she explained. Emma was right. How fast the words were coming to her, how readily.

The Doctor had gone pale. “It was never your fault, Rose. Never think that.” There was more he wanted to say, she could see it, but for some reason he held back.

“Dad said the images made you sick.”

He sighed. “They did. I wasn't supposed to see them, but I did, and what I saw was what he had reduced you to, Rose. The woman in that room, that wasn't you. That was his imagination, but never you.”

“I didn't tell you because I was afraid you wouldn't love me any more,” Rose said. “You hate the media, with good reason most of the time. So I... I didn't want you to know. That stalker was a product of my job.”

He ducked his head. She reached for his hand. “Doctor?”

When he looked up he was dejection itself. “You really think I would be able to stop loving you?”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “I...”

“He made me for you, Rose,” he spat, withdrawing his hand. The muscles in his jaw were working without flashing the dimple. He stood, running both hands over his face. “I love you. I love you, Rose, and I'll never know if it's enough and how to protect you. That dream I had last night? It was about not being able to do that. To give you the wonderful life you deserve, and to protect you. Because I can't protect you. Maybe you were right about not to tell me.”

“Doctor...” she said.

“Just... leave me alone, Rose,” he said softly, dangerously calm. There it was, the Oncoming Storm, worse than ever because it had come without warning. He left, and in the quiet of the Willows, she could hear him close the door to his room. It was the first time he'd closed a door on her. Rose hid her face in her hands, but no tears came. What had she done?


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Rose was staring out into the falling dusk, her right hand resting on the stem of her wine glass. She seemed calm, maybe even resigned. Cat sat on the floor at some distance, staring at her, his tail wrapped around his feet. He loved being cuddled, so the Doctor wondered why he hadn't leaped onto her lap to be stroked. Cat noticed him and stood, turning towards him.

“Rose,” the Doctor said.

She turned towards him, startled at first, but then she smiled. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

He sighed. “I know. What about a bath? We could finish the wine there.”

Rose blinked in surprise. “You aren't mad at me?”

He sat down in the seat he had abandoned a couple of minutes before, and Cat immediately jumped onto his thighs to settle down for the cuddle he hadn't had all day. The Doctor's hand drifted to his dark fur. “Not mad, no. I'm trying to understand.”

“That stalker... he's done a lot of damage without knowing it.”

He nodded, stopping stroking Cat to rub his bruised hand. She was right, but he also knew that the extent of the damage he caused was up to them. They could allow the stress to continue to create tension or they could choose to move on. “It's not your fault. I never thought it was.”

“What happened to your hand?” Rose asked.

He exhaled slowly and told her. “We mustn't... Ultimately, he wasn't the reason for your disappearance. Younis never found out if he had definite plans to abduct you. Even if he hadn't planned... that... shrine.”

When Rose stood and walked around the table to take his hand, Cat gave her a disdainful look before he jumped to the floor and ran away. “He doesn't like me,” Rose said.

The Doctor opened his mouth before he knew what he wanted to say. Rose smiled. “I'll live.” Then she took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “What about that bath?”

He smiled at her and leaned down for a quick kiss. “I'm sorry. About earlier. I have no right to be angry at you for not telling me. I didn't tell Donna about you being missing until she asked me. And she's practically my sister; if anyone, she deserved to know.” He’d come to the realisation while he was sulking in his room.

“Still...” she said.

“Hush, Rose. Bath,” he said, kissing her again. Then he led her up the stairs.

They deposited their glasses on the low wall separating the shower from the tub. While the tub was filling they undressed, and he was glad to see that her cuts and bruises were healing. They were disappearing quickly thanks to the lotion that Torchwood had developed; he smiled, despite himself, at how colourful her body looked in places. The bruises had taken on a greenish and yellowish tinge. He reached out to brush his fingertips over them.

Rose jumped, startled at the unexpected caress.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she said. “'s jus'... I was thinking.”

“Oh,” he said, throwing his pants and socks into the hamper.

“We never assumed he'd abduct me. When we made the decision we took him seriously but we didn't think we should burden you with it. We thought it would be easy enough to deal with. There was nothing you could have done. Neither could Dad or I.”

“You wrote me that letter,” he said, standing in front of her and taking both her hands.

“It wasn't the first. I'd written one after our return from Florence. I've written you five such letters, Doctor. I never seem to be able to find the right words.” They stood looking at each other for a moment, then he reached behind her to open the clasp of her bra.

“I'm glad you wrote it,” he said.

“I'll have to write another one,” she said.

He smiled wistfully. “It seems you have the more dangerous job now.”

“Jeopardy-friendly, me,” Rose replied, the tip of her tongue between her lips. “It's... is it a problem for you?”

He exhaled, handing her into the tub. The water was very hot, and Rose didn't settle down immediately. “It's what you do. It's what you're good at.”

“So're you,” she pointed out, watching him as he lowered himself into the frothy bath across from her.

“Not any more, Rose,” he said.

They were quiet for a moment. “You hate Torchwood.”

“Rose.” He didn't want to discuss it right then. It had all been about being vulnerable and helpless. “I hate being helpless. And I feel genuinely out of my depth with Torchwood. What they do... what you do, it's not what I did.”

Rose adjusted one of the clips holding her hair up. “Do you miss it a lot? Travellin'?”

He took her hand. “So much.”

“'s a stupid question. I'm sorry.”

“No. But you know what?” he asked.

She attempted a smile.

“I'm getting used to not travelling. In the TARDIS.”

They were quiet for a while, sipping their wine, caressing each other, simply enjoying being were together. “I never seriously doubted your love. 's jus'... if you can't stop thinking about it, you get all sorts of strange ideas,” Rose said eventually. She rested her right foot against his shoulder.

“I know.” He set his empty glass aside and took her foot. As he kissed and then sucked each toe he never stopped looking at her, delighting in her reaction. Her eyes fluttered shut and her head lolled to one side. Her hands found his knees for support as he twirled his tongue around her toes. Rose sighed deeply. He pressed a kiss to the sole of her foot before he let go of her.

“Bed?” he asked.

She replied with a sleepy sound which he assumed was a yes. By the time he joined her in bed, she was drifting off to sleep. She snuggled up against him as he slid into bed behind her and wrapped her in his arms. “Sleep, my love, I've got you.”

-:-

“Cat hates me,” Rose said when he padded into the kitchen the next morning. “He hissed and spat when I came in.” She was only wearing a robe, and she had barely touched her morning tea, but she was already making a cake. The Doctor smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. A baking Rose was a good sign. He had slept quite well himself although he had dreamed of the stalker. The dream, however, hadn't been as powerful as the previous one, and apart from waking briefly to tighten his hold on Rose it hadn't disturbed his sleep.

The Doctor looked at Cat where he was sitting in the bay window, watching the goings-on in the kitchen Argus-eyed. “He doesn't know you,” he said. He bent to kiss her good-morning. Then he dipped his finger into the batter and licked it clean. “That's gorgeous.”

“He doesn't want to get to know me,” Rose protested, elbowing him gently away so she could reach for the wooden spoon. He let go of her.

“Maybe he's jealous. He'll live,” the Doctor shrugged.

“Sometimes I have a feeling he wants to tell me it's either him or me.”

He snorted. “What are you making?”

“A strawberry cake for Claire,” Rose said. “I'd like to tell her about Jack this afternoon.”

“Oh.”

“I want some closure to this,” she explained, pouring the batter into the spring form.

The Doctor put the kettle on and prepared a mug of tea for himself. “It's a good idea,” he said, pouring the hot water over his teabag once the kettle had clicked off.

“Are we...?” she asked after she had put the spring form into the oven and set the timer. “Is there...?”

“We're fine, Rose,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “But there's one thing.”

“Oh?” she asked.

He nuzzled her neck. “I wanted to seduce you last night.” Rose purred as he kissed and nipped at her neck. “But you fell asleep so quickly.”

“'m sorry,” she mumbled, framing his face with her hands to pull him towards her for a kiss. She tasted of strawberries and tea, and he couldn't get enough of her. He undid the sash that held her robe together and, to his delight, found that she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Parting the fabric, he bent to continue his line of kisses and licks, cupping one breast and waking the nipple with a caress first of his fingers, then of his tongue. Rose sighed, supporting herself on the edge of the counter with one hand and dropping her other to his head to guide and encourage him.

He worked his way down her body, kneeling before her in the process, until he reached the vee of her curls. Rose opened her legs a little, and, at his encouragement, hooked her right leg over his shoulder to grant him better access as he tasted and teased her. He offered her additional support by steadying her with one hand on her hip and the other on her thigh. Slowly, he worked her to the brink of orgasm, only to stop at the very last moment. When she thought he would stop he continued his tender torment. He repeated this three or four times, until her breathing was so heavy that he simply couldn't stop himself. He wanted her to come undone under his tongue, and with a couple of flicks and a bit of suckling Rose cried out her release. Her leg slid off his shoulder and he quickly rose to hold her as she calmed.

“That was... evil. But brilliant,” she whispered, wiping his mouth before she kissed him.

“I'm eager to please,” he said, deepening the kiss.

“Oh yes,” she smiled, reaching between them to cup his erection, still trapped in his pyjama bottoms. “There's a condom in the pocket of my robe,” she whispered, nibbling at his earlobe.

He grinned, finding the foil package and tearing it open as Rose slid down his body, taking the pyjamas with her. Before she rolled on the condom, she took him in her mouth and ran her tongue along his length. Their mouths crashed against each other as she came up. She tore the t-shirt up off his head and turned in his embrace. “Please, Doctor.” She looked at him over her shoulder, shrugging her robe off.

He ran his hands down her colourful back and over the swell of her bum and hips, then he reached between her legs to cup her. She was still wet, but with a couple of strokes and a finger dipped into her he prepared her. Then, with his hands on her hips, he buried himself within her in one smooth movement.

“Oh Rose,” he murmured, holding still to brush her hair aside so he could kiss her. It was awkward in this position, so she turned as much as she could to return the kiss. He let go of her to find her clit with one hand and cup her breast with the other. He wasn't going to last very long. “You're amazing.”

“I...” she said, but there wasn't really anything she could have said but “Fuck me”, which he did. He didn't usually like it when she used the word, but in this moment it was the perfect thing to say. He withdrew slowly only to sheathe himself in a much faster stroke that lifted her off her feet a little.

Rose groaned.

“Is this all right?” he asked, kissing her below her ear.

“Yeah. Please, Doctor. Don't wait. I need you.”

He set an eager rhythm then, encouraged by her sounds of pleasure. Towards the end, when the tension coiled in his stomach and his balls tightened he let go of her to hold her by the hips, and his kisses became open-mouthed as he tried to taste whatever part of her he could reach.

“Oh Rose,” he cried, driving them to completion. He slumped against her, holding himself upright with his hands on either side of her, kissing her sweaty back and pressing himself as closely to her as possible. “Rose,” he panted, resting his cheek against her shoulder. “Rose, Rose, Rose.”

“I'm here.”

He could hear her frantic heartbeat, and as soon as he trusted his legs to support his weight he wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his arms. They kissed languidly, and because they were still coming down from their shared pleasure, they had to come up for air more often than usual.

“That was... I'm glad I was too tired last night. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this,” she said, laughing softly.

“Good morning, my love,” he grinned.

“So that's four rooms down... how many more to go?” she asked.

He threw back his head and laughed, only to drop his mouth to her clavicle to kiss it. “Oh, not so fast. We haven't tried the kitchen table yet.”

-:-

Rose was grateful for his offer to accompany her to Claire's. Although it was only she who had met this universe's Jack Harkness, the Doctor felt he needed to go with her. Jack was his friend as well, and he wanted to help Rose as much as he possibly could. Never mind the cake he'd get to eat.

Claire was expecting them – they had asked her two days before if she would be in and not working – with tea and sandwiches, which she had laid out for them in the garden. The weather was still exceptionally nice, and by this point they had got used to spending a lot of time outside. The Doctor promised he would set to restoring their garden furniture so they could take advantage of the nice weather as well and enjoy the peace and quiet of the silver leaves moving above them gently in the breeze.

“I'm so glad you're back,” Claire said as she put the cake on the tray with the rest of the tea things. Rose was looking around the kitchen, memories obviously coming to the surface as she did so.

“I love the sink,” she said eventually.

“Oh, that old thing,” Claire said, but there was a wistfulness about the way she said it that suggested she was rather fond of it.

“I'm glad you kept it,” Rose continued.

“They're quite en vogue again now, aren't they? Porcelain sinks. It does have a couple of nicks, though.” It took a while, a quiet while, for Claire to realise. “How do you mean, you're glad I've kept it?”

“Why don't we go outside,” the Doctor suggested, picking up the tray.

“I've been here before. When porcelain sinks were standard,” Rose said.

Claire looked from her to him, and back. “I'm afraid I don't understand.” She picked up the tea pot and started to pour each of them a cup.

“I wasn't... well, when I was gone, it wasn't... just a trip,” Rose began. “I fell into a tear in the fabric of space and time. It took me back to Florence Gardens in 1938.”

Claire stammered “That’s impossible,“ even as she continued preparing plates for her guests.

“You said yourself that people who'd entered number 23 sometimes didn't return,” the Doctor pointed out gently.

“Humbug,” Claire said dismissively.

“It's not,” Rose said, and then she explained about the tear and the Guardian. “I'm sure you've heard of Torchwood Institute before.”

“I have,” Claire admitted, neatly spreading her napkin on her lap.

“That's where I work. And John too, on a more or less freelance basis,” Rose said.

“It's true,” the Doctor said softly. He'd held back so far. Rose wanted to do this by herself; he'd only come to support her.

“I think you deserve to know what happened,” Rose continued, “because the police knocked on your door as well when they thought the stalker had taken me.”

“It's their job, my dear,” Claire said. “No need to apologise, but I'm grateful that you're telling me. I'm not sure... about that Torchwood thing, though.”

They drank and ate in silence for a while. The Doctor could see how Rose was working up the courage to tell Claire about Jack. Eventually, Rose found the photographs in her bag but didn't give them to Claire just yet. “I need you to believe me, Claire. Because if you don't, I'm... you'll think I'm cruel and... bent on hurting you. You have to believe me, Claire.”

“Very well, I'll try.”

“John told me about your father,” Rose began.

Claire tensed visibly. “Go on,” she said, her voice clear and sharp, daring Rose to hurt her.

“When I turned up in 1938, the first person I met was your mother, Estelle Cole. She took me in and offered me tea and comfort and a place to stay,” Rose said. “That's why I recognised the kitchen sink.”

Rose looked at him before she continued.

“Your father, Jack Harkness, worked for Torchwood in 1938. Your mother told him about me, and he helped me find a way back home. He's the reason why I'm here now,” Rose said.

Claire didn't reply at once, but the longer she thought about it the more the Doctor thought she understood what was going on. “But I never met him. He disappeared before I was born.”

“He... he didn't know your mother was pregnant when I arrived.”

“Oh.”

“Jack was a time-traveller, stuck in the 1930s and desperate to get back to the 51st century.”

“The 51st... that's unimaginable. Even for me, that's... the 51st century. Three thousand years from now,” Claire murmured.

“It is incredible. I know,” Rose said, laughing softly. “The thing is, when the Guardian sent me home, it sent Jack home as well. He hitched a ride before I had the chance to tell him about you. And... here I am, and Jack's hopefully back home.” She gave Claire the photos. Claire took them with shaking hands, and before she looked at them, she fiddled a bit with her glasses. She studied the photos for a long time.

“That's Auntie,” she said eventually, pointing at Mo.

“She called herself Mo, but her full name was Henrietta Morton. She left me number 23,” Rose explained.

Claire smiled. “Yes, she'd do something like that.”

“So you believe me?” Rose asked anxiously.

“Yes. Yes, I do,” Claire said, sighing heavily. “After all these years... I've filled my books with children looking for their fathers, you know.”

Rose took her hand and gave her a squeeze. “Yes, I know.” For a moment the Doctor thought she might tell Claire about Pete, that she had grown up without a father as well, but she didn't.

“Why hasn't he come back? Even if he didn't know about Mother being pregnant with me, why did he never come back to her?” Claire asked.

Rose swallowed. There was no answer, none that was comforting. He knew, and Rose probably did too, that Jack wasn't made that way. It seemed cruel to tell Claire that, but on the other hand he found she deserved an answer.

“Jack wasn't comfortable in relationships,” Rose said, beating him to it so all he could do was close his mouth. “I think he would make a wonderful dad, but he wouldn't be the most reliable man.”

Claire took off her glasses. “Still, I would have been able to meet him.”

“It's all I can tell you, Claire,” Rose said.

Claire smiled. “And I'm very grateful. Thank you, Rose.”

“You believe me?”

“Why shouldn't I?” Claire said, gesturing with the photos. “Why should you want to hurt me like this? I don't think you'd be the type, Rose.”

Rose laughed in relief.

“Torchwood, eh?” Claire prompted.

“I'm afraid it's all very hush-hush,” Rose said, and went on to explain to Claire about confidentiality. Claire even offered to sign something, but Rose would have none of it. The Doctor enjoyed the delicious cake and the tea as he watched the two women talk.

“If you ever find out more about Jack,” Claire said. “Will you tell me?”

-:-

A couple of days later Rose's room was finished. She had finished painting it in a warm yellow, and the narrow end of it, beneath the windows, was taken up by a daybed that fit just perfectly. She had a small desk and a couple of bookshelves, and she hung some of the Doctor's drawings on the walls. She had laboriously scrubbed the floor clean where she had dropped the paint brush, and the photos of her and Jack and Mo sat in frames on the mantel of the small fireplace, just next to the ones she had kept in her old study.

“It's small, but it's perfect,” the Doctor said, dropping a line of kisses along her naked shoulder as he lay behind her on the daybed. They had just made love, both to welcome her to the room and to exorcise the bad memories connected with it. The tear in the fabric of space and time was sealed and there was no danger of it opening ever again. The Guardian had taken care of that.

“Yeah. I've always wanted a room like this,” Rose said, shifting in his arms so she was lying on her back.

The Doctor trailed the backs of his fingers along her cheek, thinking, wondering how to word his question. “Promise me something?” he asked eventually.

She nodded for him to go on.

“If you're in danger again, will you tell me before I get to read a letter?”

She closed her eyes in shame. “Yes.”

He smiled, kissing her nose. “Good. That's... good.”

They lay in silence for a while. This was the life he had always dreamed of, a life with Rose. And a cat.

Cat was sitting, his tail curled around his feet, in the centre of the room.

“We've got a visitor,” he murmured.

“What?” Rose's eyes flew open and she turned her head. “What's he doing here? I thought he never came up here?”

Cat rose, shifted a little, then settled down again. In the exact same spot where he had appeared. The Doctor furrowed his brow. Up until now the spot had terrified the animal. And now he was sitting there as if it were the most comfortable spot in the world.

Cat rose again, came towards them and leaped onto the mattress with them, where he curled up in the crook of Rose's body. She was lying in that strange twisted position where her shoulders were nearly flat on the bed but her pelvis was not.

“Doctor?” Rose asked, her eyes wide. “I'm not dreaming, am I?”

He shook his head and reached over her to stroke Cat's silken raven fur.

“No,” he mused. Cat was trying to tell them something. He kept stroking the animal until it started to purr. Rose joined him, carefully touching Cat at first so as not to startle him. The Doctor's eyes drifted shut as he basked in the warmth of Rose and their lovemaking.

As he drifted off to sleep a soft tinkling sound filled the room, and the soft song that had accompanied him for most of his life. He didn't see the unmistakable golden dust swirling gently between Cat and Rose's hand.

It was just a whisp, a fine swirl of golden dust that was set free, and as the breeze blew in through the window, the golden dust rode the gentle current toward the golden piece of coral, where it belonged, where it would prosper and grow and live.

End


End file.
